CHRISTMAS IS FINISHED - A POEM

by Sausage McKraaken, age 12

Christmas is finished.
I watch my father take down
The children singing on the tree
And playing in the snow.
The presents have been locked away
In a safe in the garage
For another year.
I miss the funky Yuletide
Synthesiser hits:
The sleigh-bells.
My thoughts turn now to sobriety
And schoolwork, to ink and page.
Goodwill to all men is over,
And I resolve once more to treat my fellow man
With the contempt he deserves.

Christmas is finished.
The last of the florentines
Has been regurgitated
And the turkey has been buried
On the moon.
Now the winter is but cold and harsh
And we wait only for its death,
When spring will decapitate it,
And with its rotting carcass
Fertilise the daffodils.
The blood of a hundred undiscovered suicides
Congeals on the uncarpeted floors
Of a hundred grimy council flats;
The neighbours can smell something
When they walk past the door,
But they haven't called the police yet.
Innards intermingle
With shit,
Shit
With innards.
Flies buzz merrily around the corpse.
The feast has just begun for them!
But for us,
Alas,

Christmas is finished.