Sunday, 7 January 2018

The Journey of the Mouse

by Pat Sutherland... (with grovelling apologies to TS Eliot)


A hard time we had of it
Just the time of year
for going arse over tit on the ice
and battling in the supermarket
over the last loaf.
There were times we regretted
ever getting involved
in all the tinsel tawdriness
and the highway robbery of Festive Menus
serving reconstituted turkey
and khaki, knackered sprouts,
and John Denver singing Please Daddy
Don't Get Drunk this Christmas
and migraine-inducing flashing lights.

A hard time we had of it.
Still we soldiered on,
burning our scented candles at both ends,
pulling crackers full of crap and dad-dancing
to Slade
with the voices singing in our ears, saying
that this was all mince.

Then Captain Bev announced a Peccadillo Party,
a Christmas Canal-fest, an hour or two of proper
joy, with a cauldron of Gluhwein,
several drams of Talisker, brandy balls, pigs
in blankets, Cathy's gingerbread.
There was writing too: we spilled our solemn thoughts
awhile,
until the Christmas Angel fell into the wine
and surfaced shouting Party Time.

All this was yesterday,
and we would do it again, so set down
this set down
this: our group carousing round the warm stove
trailed the questing mouse and found
the answer. 
Thank you, Captain Bev.









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