by Zachary Warble
We made-over the group room for Christmas,
used rubber bands to hang bows from a wiry tree;
tinsel came in six-inch strands.
Night shift stripped our curled ribbons out
from the inside of the skylight hollows.
I saw young Will’s arms
the next morning,
thought about being a kid
poking holes in presents
seeing if there was anything
good in there.
