Happy Holidays,

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