The table’s set – it glitters brightly
with Christmas crackers, (wound too tightly,)
candle sticks and a centre piece
of holly ivy – star anis.
Mum is buzzing like a fly
Dad’s carving turkey wondering, ‘WHY?’
We do this every single year!
(He’s somewhat lacking Christmas cheer.)
Says things that shouldn’t be repeated
in earshot of the company seated.
Grandpa’s sat at top of table,
on his left is Aunty Mabel,
on Grandpa’s right – a seat for Nan,
then daughter, still on Instagram –
taking pictures of the table,
plus Uncle Dick, Aunty Mabel
and Cousin Claire sat opposite
who flicks her hair and pouts a bit.
Mum sits next to youngest son
to make sure he can’t spoil the fun,
and nearly driven round the bend
Dad takes his seat upon the end.
Both are well and truly knackered
but now it’s time to pull the crackers.
Grandma’s cracker stays intact,
Aunty Mabel’s lost its’ hat,
Youngest son’s toy went flying –
now in the gravy boat it’s lying.
Daughter’s cracker’s disappeared,
Cousin Claire’s, hat looks weird,
Grandpa fights with Uncle Dick –
over who it was that won the trick.
The jokes are bad, the prizes crap,
and half of them don’t even snap.
Never mind, it’s time to toast
Mum and dad – the perfect hosts
and everyone, – ‘Good health and cheer,
For Christmas AND the coming year.’
The glasses chink, the drinks are downed,
with paper hats we all are crowned
and now at last it’s time to eat,
pass the gravy, take some meat,
cranberry sauce – YUM! The turkeys tasty,
but uncle Dick’s a bit too hasty!
Burns his mouth on a brussel sprout,
swears a lot and spits it out.
The plates are filled to overflowing
but still there’s more, it keeps on going,
“Have another pig in a blanket,
(it really is quite the banquet)
A glass of wine or may be two?
Another toast, ‘To me – to you!’”
And now it’s time for dessert,
just a smidgeon, it won’t hurt.
Then while all wait in anticipation
for a brandy-glowing, pudding sensation,
Mum steals a swig of Grandpa’s best,
it’s only fair she does a test.
Dad lights the match- then in one stroke,
said Christmas Pud goes up in smoke!
Well, that’s a shame but don’t be sorry,
“There’s plenty more, so not to worry.”
But, wait, it’s time for Charles – the King!
His Christmas speech – now there’s a thing.
Into the lounge to watch the telly,
welcome relief for our belly.
Collapse on sofa somewhat relieved,
apart from Dad who jumps at speed –
speared up the rear by Mable’s knitting
when on her cushion he tried sitting.
And soon the day – is nearly done,
we couldn’t eat another crumb.
But then Mum arrives with Christmas cake,
a Yuletide Log and After Eights,
mince pies and stollen for our supper,
there’s still a ton of food left over
and even though we’re fit to pop,
it’s Christmas so we cannot stop.
Until at last, it’s time for bed
and we can rest our weary head
and tummy too, it needs a break
Meanwhile Mum’s thinking.., ‘Hmm, what to make
for Boxing day and all her guests?’
‘Turkey Curry,’ someone suggests!
Ali Blevins liked writing poems when she was small. Then she grew up and forgot all about it. That is until 2017 when she was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. All of a sudden, she discovered she had a lot more stories and poems inside of her head that needed to get out. She is now an active member of ‘Poets with Parkinson’s’ and enjoys writing and sharing all kinds of poetry.