Christmas

Cute, cuddly fresco bear, all along the lights are there, you walked around to see the neighbours lights, you walked around the mind of night and remembered how refreshing that walk used to be. Winter came with that sense of responsibility of soon it will be Christmas, soon I must defrost the turkey, soon I shall have to share the remote control.

The television illuminated the whole room, and not a single word or velum wrapped the rooms atmosphere. All around, the memories of last years hastily ripped wrappers tattooed an image onto the carpets pattern. Last years party, showed on the left arm where no-one had noticed all year. The price of art felt different. Even David Dickinson noticed the change. Buy or selling happened frequently at Christmas. At the market a women who sold the fruit lay awaiting, singing like a little lamb on a plastic tree.

Presents wrapped in gold ribbons, tubular happy snapper wrapping crunched in one big crunch and big hands grip the offering, shaking hands of truth; as the the boy screams, "I bet these are jelly tots". Go easy, smile and share your love at Christmas because if you don't, then who will?

Winter waits to form, on the year that snow never fell on English soil, outside the fluffy, hairy and polystyrene snowman blows in the gust of the northern air. All around the garden lay - leaves on their backs. Next year the tree's will be green again I thought and: The view from the double glazing looked breathed upon. The spray of snow went out of fashion when the weather man said mid July "There will be no snow this Christmas". The amount of money spent on lights,  justified the negative connotation of loosing the aerosol.

And to top it off, you knew in the back of your mind, they'd all have to share last years jokes, from last years crackers, and that's if your lucky. So think of me on Christmas day as you bunch upon your golden stuffing because I will be catering my own stuffing for me and me only. All the mince pies have already been eaten. The chicken is already in the oven, the sprouts have been liquidated in yesterdays lasagne white sauce and the nuts of January have mixed with fresh sprouts frozen to give a better texture. The cold sprouts were like balls of steel, but have cooked nicely.

Tomorrow is Christmas, I look forward to writing more Christmas poems, I like writing Christmas poems, I like Christmas, I like the way everyone gets really drunk and then have a really good time. Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas and Merry Christmas (The third time I really believed it). On Christmas I begged for thanks and avoided the repetition of that memory of being happy on another day, instead of the happiness we feel most days. Christmas could be a new dawn and this year it could be even happier, it could even happen on Boxing Day, it often does. New Year is something special but today my calendar has mysteriously disappeared. And I miss December's Dolphin image.