Merry Christmas!A Poem by David Lewis Paget‘The
neighbours are holding a Christmas fete,’ She
said, ‘have asked us to go along, It’s
fancy dress, we can go there late, I
know you’ll say that we don’t belong.’ I
huddled down in my easy chair Ignored
her then, and turned to my book, ‘I
know that you heard me, foul or fair, And
stop putting on that hunted look!’ I
groaned, ‘We went seven years ago, A
rank disaster, what about Beth? She
came on strong on the Dosey Doe Couldn’t
we try just faking my death?’ ‘I’m
not sitting here this Christmas Eve With
you, we’re going, the party’s huge, After
an hour you can get up and leave.’ ‘Okay,’
I said, ‘I’m going as Scrooge!’ The
wife dressed up as a Fairy Queen A
great big pudden with fairy wings, I
jammed a Topper down on my bean Then
glued on whiskers and scowled at things. The
host wore his Father Christmas suit, His
brats dressed up as the seven dwarfs, While
Beth walked round with a plastic flute In
a see through top, to the others gawps. Oliver
wore a mistletoe hat While
Jenny was dressed like a bottle of beer, The
punch was spiked and the music flat So
I batted a dwarf right under the ear. The
wife waltzed round with a lame Tin Man While
I got drunk at the corner bar, Then
Beth kept coming to brush my hand And
tried to lead me, out to their car. I
must admit that I did resist, She
wasn’t as svelte as she used to be, The
wife made signs like slashing her wrists Each
time that she saw her approaching me. Whenever
a guest would beam ‘Good Cheer!’ I’d
say, ‘Bah humbug!’ - ‘Rot your socks!’ They
thought I was kidding, ‘Drink your beer, I
hope it’s poisoned with chicken pox!’ At
midnight, there was the sound of bells That
tinkled down from the patio roof, The
sort of a sound a Scrooge repels When
sipping on whiskey, forty proof. A
man came into the dining room All
dressed in red with a great big sack, The
host was livid: ‘There’s only one, If
that’s your costume then take it back!’ The
guy had a big white flowing beard And
he Ho-Ho-Ho’d to the surly host, ‘I’ve
got the presents for everyone here, But
nothing for Scrooge, or Marley’s ghost!’ They
all got a present from him but me, And
I thought, ‘Bah, Humbug! Christmas sucks!’ But
begging the question, who was he? If
it really was him, I’m out of luck! We’re
finally home, and I now believe, ‘Wasn’t
it lovely,’ the wife exclaims, ‘I
really enjoyed this Christmas Eve.’ But
all I can hear are Marley’s chains! David
Lewis Paget © 2012 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
Reviews
|
StatsAuthor
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|