He’d find
His faith in boxes
On the stoop
Where dreams
Would languish

Like proof
Of childhood wishes
Left behind
Since days
Grew long

Handed over
With no words
Ringing doorbells
Loud
In silence

Watching shadows
Walk off slowly
Through that entrance
Closed
By glass

When tomorrow
Came too soon
Inside cardboard
Shrines
He worshipped

Housing solace
Gone so easy
After praying
Things
They sold

Were redemption
Bought online
Or true need
His itch
Had promised

Was important
If uncertain
Any item
Could quell
Fear

Always present
Within mind
Tearing tape
Each hand
Would fasten

Thinking someone
Touched this parcel
Hoping joy
Should last
Much more

Than an object
Might provide
For salvation
Hawked
Yet fleeting

Finding God
Delivers answers
Bringing shame
From empty
Gifts.

– J. Pigno