Bulky Pickup by Claire Scott

Without a doubt my favorite day of the year
no need to buy presents, send sappy cards or FTD flowers
no need to make another too-dried-out turkey
with sausage stuffing no one wants but politely takes
and stuffs into the linen napkins on their laps
no need to watch Uncle Marvin groping butts, planting
wet kisses that get wetter by the second bottle of wine
no need to buy a twenty-five-dollar gift card
for your great niece you haven’t seen in six years
and never really liked in the first place
no carving pumpkins, putting out Milky Ways and M&Ms
for greedy children with rotting teeth,
no decorating an insanely expensive tree,
no wreath, no tall ladders to put up outdoor lights
teetering precariously on the top step
just put everything you’re sick of out by the curb
and voilà!  it’s all gone by five that afternoon
pillows the dog peed on, a set of encyclopedias
missing “S” and “T,” a tricycle with two wheels
the hideous vases your mother sends every year
the bowling ball that belonged to your great grandfather
and of course, your good-for-nothing spouse
if you can pry him out of bed
and convince him to simply stand there until
the truck arrives