Holiday Spirit

The breads, the sugars, the carbs, the starches.

The breakfast sandwich from those damned golden arches.

Add some high fructose corn syrup to pack it in tight.

And tomorrow you’ll be pushing with all of your might.

To squeeze out a loaf the size of an unlit candle.

With an odor stronger than any nostril can handle.

And so this holiday season, I bid you farewell.

Before the cramps surface and the sphincter swells.

For tomorrow, at the sound of your nearest church house’s bells.

You’ll be exercising that butt demon straight back to hell.