The Potlach of the Poor

Poemata XLIV

“all stealing is toy-stealing. That’s why it’s really wrong. The goods of the unhappy children of men should be really respected because of their worthlessness.” -Manalive

In early December, as you may know
Around here it hardly snows
 Rain perhaps, whenever it may;
But the holidays come, with their hope
Of better things, a ski-slope
 Sliding towards Christmas day;
There is here a certain ghost
That loves the fire and the roast
 And gifts, bright and new, to the sky;
A spirit of this time, in vain
Hated by this age, but the same
 Indulged without a question why;
We are taught to spurn its charms
"Materialism", or some harms
 Concerned with the business of the shops;
It can be tacky, or over-wrought
Declasse was what we were taught
 Such contempt from these things drops;
But what else do such people possess?
Even the greatest and the best?
 For such holy days from gifting flow;
Most gifts are wasted, but all the more
Who hates the potlach of the poor
 In early December, as you may know?