Afterwards

It’s the day after the day after Christmas

The kids have got bored with their toys

They’ve broken the trainset and eaten their sweets

And they’re making one hell of a noise.

Dad sits by the fire with a paper

And tries to work out what it cost

For the turkey, the booze and the mincepies

But gives up the struggle as lost.

In the kitchen Mum looks at the carcass

Can they scrape one more meal from the bird?

Her head aches, they’ve run out of aspirin

“I’m knackered! Aye, that’s the right word!”

Miss Jenkins, now eighty and housebound

Sits alone in her thirteenth-floor flat

Feasted and fussed over at Christmas

Now left like some jumble sale hat.

How generous we all are at Christmas

So full of good will and good cheer

We’ve a real Christian spirit at Christmas:

But what of the rest of the year?