Three Hours Before New Years and Counting

A Poem by Martin Willitts Jr.

(Editor’s note: Just because New Years happened on the 31st in our country, doesn’t mean it isn’t celebrated later in other countries.)

I knew that New Years Day was off to a bad start
when snow began to fall inside of my closet,
geese flew from the coat hangers,
and someone tobogganed out of the shoe boxes.
I could blame the Mayan calendar
for predicting the end of the world,
but the sun just rose over New Zealand
and it will take hours by bus transfer to get here.
Where is my party hat for the chaos coming at tax time?
Does it mean anything that the Saint Bernard
is bringing an application to AA?
The Walrus brought his own bucket of ice for the champagne.