Jason Huskey

Slipping Guilt


She was wearing a green dress,
standing by the wishing well
in front of what was Kay-Bee toys.
I told her to wait while I picked up
presents I was having wrapped.

She was wearing a gray dress,
standing by two old ladies
smoking cigarettes. I told her it
wouldn't take but a minute, that
I just had to gather them from Santa.

She was wearing a lemonade dress,
standing in the spot we'd chosen together.
I told her the presents were special
deliveries from the big man, that
his elves had closed the shop early.

She was wearing a white dress,
standing bravely among the holidays
swamping through the mall. I had stopped
to flirt with the young sales girl lonely
longing for the season to be through.

She was wearing a dress,
standing by the shadows of mall.
My failure came in a cashier's smile—
sixteen miserable years and she still believes
in Santa Claus—still believes in me.