Christmas day

Christmas day in the cottage, Duncan was bleeding the toast
Granny was out in the potting shed insulting the family ghost
Mother sat in the kitchen sink basting the turkey with tears
Father was up on the window sill mending the socks with fears
Abby was under the table, the table was under the cat
The cat was under the watchful gaze of a slightly cornered rat
Fifi was high in the basement, weeping a lake of mince pies
The washing machine had gone for a cycle; the knees were hip to the thighs
The vicar arrived with a message from God, the message was coloured in Latin
My brothers and me mixed honey with glee to sweeten the chair that he sat in
The greens had all turned BNP the future had no new queen
The broccoli reeked of purple in a shroud-like pink shagreen
An alligator out in the hallway was weeping crocodile tears
While mopping the family bloodline with the absorbent parts of its ears
Penny was just a baby and did what babies do worst
Alistair alistaired over the shoulder of a pale and frightened nurse
I gave my mother some humbugs I whistled my father some bahs
They gave to me a pedigree and a serious interest in scars
The turkey tasted of ice cream the sprouts brutal as plums
All of us sitting on uncomfortable chairs under uncomfortable bums
The hats were hattily hatting the crackers were there for the crack
After lunch I went upstairs
And filled my veins with smack.