The joy of the season to all,
the giving and receiving,
a feast for the court of a king,
a day overwhelmed by everything,
an overdone, glittering
oh where did it all go wrong?
Uncle Harold’s toupee caught on the tree,
a hairy bauble the cat claimed with glee,
and no-on can mention
his hair in detention,
as his masticates ham with his gums,
forgotten those teeth by the stump,
where he chopped the morning wood.
Aunt Lily by his side is stonkered,
five sherries and a nip sent her bonkers,
seventy years back merrily
reciting a poem that her mother repeated
on Christmas eve when she was three,
now its just sad.
Brother Roger is fighting with Clara his wife,
the kids are uncontrollable always in strife,
feeding the dog under table with nuts,
the dog now choking
is throwing up clots on the rug,
and their kids in hysterics,
can’t get enough.
Sister Colleen so proper,
eyes rolling at the prospect of children at all,
as her husband John thinks its funny,
no matter the rain sees it’s sunny,
and would love a tribe of kids of his pride,
to fill his own heart,
if only Colleen would start and agree.
Then Grandma stands abruptly,
at the top of her voice proclaims money,
bribing the kids to shut up and sit,
and may the spirit of Christmas enter the room
to cease squabbling,
and turkey consume before cold,
peace and bloody quiet for the old.
Grandpa just sits as cool as he is,
and watches the circus consume,
and why he does think
do we do this again, each and every Christmas,
cause they’re family he supposes,
as mad as they are,
and where would we be without drama.
The meal’s complete
not one morsel left to eat,
Uncle Harold’s in pursuit of the cat,
who has fallen in love with his hat,
and Aunt Lily’s face, embedded in plate,
is truly down for the count,
so who wants to do the dishes?
Sighs like locomotive steam,
bellow from those still awake,
in the wake of family Christmas,
and who can deny for everyone’s sake,
this meeting so maligned cannot shake
that family is all that they have,
another Christmas day, another family circus,
and for an afternoon nap they are glad.
Tony DeLorger © 2017
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