End of the Year

Sometimes the expectations
at the end of the year
are stifling
when you'd rather sidle up
to the generous uncle
and his mirrors of impunity, the favored child
never held accountable
for the multitude of sins
that gather around,
appreciating the way he is disinclined
to tell the secrets
of the grueling work
of all our human frailties.

Walk with me, he says,
to the end of the street
to the grimy bus stop
and wait patiently
while the calendar folds
for the last time
and argues for the opportune moment
to breathe the diesel smoke
of change.