It was a cold day in December

Then we visit relative for Christmas food

Granny, a hypocrite do-gooder

Holds her smile with a glassy smirk

Plastered on her face

With a mischievous hide up her behind

“I love you” was her code for

“I hate you”

There’s a thin line between love and hate, They say

But for granny, it’s a very thick line

All this we knew, checking her closet

When she died

She had loads of voodoo and charms

Flaked on her wall and ceiling

A skull rocking the center of her closet

In such, it was her shrined cult room

A room she warned us not to enter

Unless we want the police on our tail

What did we know,

She even attends church

She claps her hands in rhythm

To the choir singing from the hymnal

I’m glad she died that night in December

She could have gathered more skulls

But I guess

God didn’t want us in the bargain