Holly’s had enough
She sighs and arches closer
to the doorway

Her berries no longer speak
of gifts and glamour
She’s just a mess of red
Spiked leaves and branches
weighted down with white.

Destroy these days of isolation
Skinny months of streaming nonsense
and fighting traffic snarls
on my Netflix que

Honeyed teas might sooth
but I want ice-picks
muscles pounding hard

Scrape my windshield
Burn my frozen doors
Wipe the bloody needles
buried under Holly’s feet.