When Christmas Missed Us
Pyjama clad, in duvet wrapped,
he lay meditating on expectations
inherent in the most holy
of
consumerist days,
when families gather around
to compare gifts received
beside silenced TV and plastic tree.
Child still, till silence tempts patience
from crumpled bunk-bed sheets;
so in secret slippered steps
down wooden hill, he
tip-toes,
to check if, to eldest son,
Mum's mournful tongue
had spoken
truth, when,
with wet cheek confessed
Santa would not stop this eve,
‘cus pennies were scarce
in single parent's purse.
So he creeps to
catch a secret
peak beneath and behind sitting room
sofa seats, but all that hid
was tortoise shell kitten sleeping.
So back to bed, and flooded pillow,
not for lack of action
figure,
but because he knew
who it hurt the most,
when Christmas missed
us.
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