A couple more fragments from the poem I posted parts of yesterday:
Santa hasn’t let us down: look how
he’s stuffed the stockings
full of trinkets and tangerines,
games and gifts and puzzles –
enough to keep the kids
from worrying Mum who’s busy
in the kitchen; enough, we hope,
till everyone is ready
for their presents after lunch.
Now it’s time to pass the parcels round,
to rip the wrappings off and share the gifts.
Two hours later and it looks as if we’re drowning
in a sea of bubble wrap and ribbons.
There’s a smell of roses where Mum’s bath salts
spilled and I am wondering how your sister
could have bought a drum for Simon’s youngest.
Vengeance is yours! I hear you whisper,
as she reaches past you for the sweets.