Prospects

I know how he feels.
He's just found out there's no Santa Claus.
Still, we've all been there.
Stared, wide-eyed, at the parents,
tying up their bag full of lies.

He feels the same, only now
he's no chance of a job.
He looks wistfully into the damp valley,
listens for the crackle of kindle,
somewhere to dry off his desires.