a few bucks
with the guy in the church
parking lot.
but he's not budging.
two hundred dollars
for a five foot
tree, i tell him, really?
the needles are already
dry and falling off.
look buddy, he says,
leaning towards me,
breathing whiskey.
i'll knock of ten bucks
if you keep it to yourself.
the Monsignor is on my
case this year for low sales.
he's looking out from the
vestry right now.
see him,
the red hat, wave.
go on wave and smile.
i turn and wave,
then hand the man
two one hundred dollar
bills, expecting change.
what, no tip, he says?
what kind of Christmas spirit
is that?
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