no pealing bells, presents by the hearth’s shadow,
a potful of overcooked rice, a bowl of creamy salads,
wings of chicken browned by the wok’s hot oil;
and, here, the fir is ornamental joy.
rosemary in the flaxen oil, a pungent air.
whose tender, mild virgin-born
do we sing a silent night for?
will my teeth fall on crispy,
seasoned flesh?
no quixotic hugs since the year is governed by plastic warnings.
a table of five and emailed wishes; it’s the year of the mask,
and I go to the morgue for those who aren’t present.
Lindsey Stirling’s Santa Baby blast from the radio station.
Santa Baby, a boyfriend’s kiss, a black Lexus 350,
a stack of books, a gay year.


Onyedikachi Chinedu, @onyedikachined, is a poet living in Nigeria. he has poems forthcoming and published in A Long House, Madness Muse Press, Stone of Madness Press, Cultural Weekly, Lucky Pierre, and elsewhere. he reads for Non.Plus Lit too.

Featured image: Caleb Woods, Unsplash

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