Friday, 27 December 2013

The day after Christmas

T'is the day after Christmas                                    
And all round the home,
Are glasses with dregs
Of champagne (minus foam).

There are bottles galore,
Metal tops, wires and corks,
Some unwashed-up plates,
And some cake-gooey forks.

A cocktail stick snapped
Into very small bits.
(Was somebody nearing
The end of their wits?)

The table with debris
From crackers is strewn,
There are squashed bits of ribbon...
A now-deceased balloon.

Someone spilled gravy,
The candles dripped wax,
There's the chaos that came from
Two Santa-filled sacks.

There are wrappings
Not yet in the big bag marked "litter",
On the sofa is Play-Doh,
And icing and glitter.

Half-assembled, a castle...
A key (but no lock),
Empty battery packs
And a child's cast-off sock.

The knife we had lost
Has been found by the telly,
The turkey's congealed.
And its juice is now jelly.

There are dishes with sprouts,
(Over-catered of course),
Potatoes, and carrots,
And dried-up bread sauce.

In the carpets are peanuts
In bits and well-trodden,
The tea towels look grey:
They're in heaps and they're sodden.

Our guests all had fun,
The event was informal,
But what we want now
Is to get back to normal.






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