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Coda of Christmas Humbugs

I’ll be answering to myself while I look for him,
he who left the premises so long ago,
but now when I stand inside the parking lot
scanning roofs to pick out my car
from the rest of the humbugs, no golem
with empty pockets and hangnail face
waiting in the passenger seat
for me to drive him to his next crime scene,

willing to be my daemon, my man about town
catapulting from one emergency room
to the next situation with little more
than a nod, knowing we had to do this,
but now that he’s rolled away,
I’m not sure what else to say.