Note: This year I am planning to write a poem for each month of the year.

You arrive, keys in hand,

sharp suited and lemon scented.

January.  Clean living,

scrubbed-up January,

with your dazzling smile and

promise of better: better me,

better life, better world.

You unlock the door and in we go;

new light floods over old,

edges are sharp to the touch.

December’s been left at home

with the curtains drawn and

lights switched off, banished

to nurse one final hangover

while you and I stride

confidently into the new year.

But here’s the thing, January.

I can smell the magnolia

emulsion. I can see the wine stain

peeping out from beneath the

cabinet.  I know what I’ll find

if I pull back the rug.  You and I

both know you’re a lie, January.

You come here every year with

your healthy meal plans and

your gym membership and

you seduce us anew with

promises you just don’t keep.

Now I come to think of it,

that smile looks a little forced.

Stand here, January, while we

make some adjustments.  Pull

that end of the wallpaper and

I’ll take this side.  It’s not stuck

down yet; it’ll come off in one

wet movement.  That’s better.

Now push that table

over and spill some coffee.

Tip over the neatly stacked

books and while you’re at it,

take off that tie.  Let’s make mess.    

Let’s upend those

expectations and stamp on

those resolutions. 

This year

January, we’re going to be

untidy and unfit; we’re going

to eat the damn cake.

We’re going laugh and

play games and break the rules. 

Come on January; it’s time.

Let’s have some fun.