it was always worth a try
to inject a phrase into a time
to which I feel no connection.
Happy Christmas, goes, goes, goes
to the back of the pile,
not one for the season of Santa
and his air traffic controlled nose
reindeer, Blitzen and adding
Donner meat to the Kebab
rammed down the throat, drunk
on Christmas Eve, traffic cone on head
and singing loudly at midnight.
Having worked in retail and in catering,
the best thing about it was willing
the stupidly possessed and over gift
giver, ploughed with money
and no time, all the very best
in their endeavour to be popular
with their kids for one day; Seasons Greetings,
especially dill on your salmon,
rosemary for the memory
of what you endured last year.
Oh I don’t begrudge you
the chance to make merry on sherry,
feel fine on wine, bitter on lager,
stout for a time.
I wish you the happiest of memories,
I salute your fortitude in braving the crush,
in tasting egg-nog,
but I ask you just this once,
as you go out in your party frock
and blow dry bow tie
to remember those
who observe the end of the year revelry
with down heart, not Scrooge like,
just sad at the passing of another
year and the hope that Spring soon comes.
Ian D. Hall 2017