And here it is again, the season of good cheer.
Let’s drain it to the dregs of the very last drop.
Thank Christ the damn thing only comes round once a year.
Starts in October then you shop and shop and shop.
Me and the list both completely ticked off. Enough!
Seems not. Start new list to stave off the listlessness.
Back to the jam-packed stores, smiley smiles, piles of stuff.
Did I find what I was looking for? Have a guess.
Which set me off thinking about us. Can’t think why.
It’s not like it’s a common pattern in my life:
a bright display that snares the lonely passer-by;
yet another twist of the same familiar knife.
The fruitless shopping expeditions of my life.
The early sorties involved knights and princesses.
Later, to stay in character, I sought a wife:
twin singing souls in celestial harmonies.
I’d read the books, knew she’d be innocent and fair,
that witchy temptress that can dissolve the façade,
I advanced, heart on sleeve, with optimism to spare,
but my script, it seems, was co-written by de Sade.
Reached for the skies, but then – oh no – look out below!
Sorry, can’t take calls at present. Will call you back.
It’s well known that any fool can lick their elbow.
Irony, was that? Or sarcasm? I’ve lost track.
These loaded aisles, I’ve spent years wandering them all;
being spoilt for choice is the curse of novelty.
She never jingled for me, the belle of the ball;
starving amidst the plenty – a fine cruelty.