A poem for Christmas

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Leave me alone, Father Christmas,
I’m really not in the mood

For tinsel, holly and crackers,

And all that fake festive food.

The turkey doesn’t want stuffing -

And frankly, neither do I -

As the Christmas tills keep ringing,

I keep on asking WHY?

Why we go with this seasonal circus,

Jump through the same hoops every year,

When gentlemen have to be merry,

And so, drink gallons of beer.

And young girls lose all inhibitions –

Their virginity too, I’ll be bound –

To be single mums pushing buggies

When September comes around.

And chasing those ‘Special Offers’,

On stuff the big stores cannot shift,

As you elbow your way through shoppers,

On escalator;  in lift.

Those ‘Christmas Specials’ on telly

(Recorded in July),

Whose stars have flown south for the winter,

And bask ‘neath Jamaican skies.

                                           

And even those homes whose finances

At this time are terribly sparse,

Must have the traditional fairy

With a Christmas tree stuck up her arse.

So let’s hear it for old Scrooge, then,

Bah, humbug – and all that stuff,

I think I’ll go hide in the wardrobe –

Of Christmas I’ve had enough!

But hey, let's enjoy this time of year - let's enjoy every time of year!