Once in a Northern city, sat between
a dead tree and shitty Christmas television,
festive cheer is expressed through
snide remarks about choir boys’ mouths
and priests…
…placing babies into cribs.

I wonder how many ghosts are going to
crawl out of the aether to try and make me
feel regret about past deeds.
Unlike Ebenezer, I am not so easily broken.
My mouth can counter any conviction
with the conviction of the original act.

Bring me the head of the Ghost of Christmas Past
for the top of my tree,
roast its body in the oven to feed the Ghosts of
Christmas Present and Future for
the twelve days of…
…gluttony and excess.

Sorry Tiny Tim, you will never make it to adulthood
as you choke on the turkey bones from my table.
Who ever told you charity comes without strings?
Just ask Geldof, Saint Bono, and all
the Live Aid lot about that.
All that money donated and still no one got fat,
well, the wrong ones did.
Too bad, I guess the rest still will not be
getting snow this Christmas time.

Eating makes us fat, Ebola makes them…
…skeletal like the twig corpses
that will line our streets in early January.
Christmas is the genocide of turkeys;
snatched from their Auschwitz cages and shoved
into ovens, their carcasses destined
for mass burial at landfill sites.
Feed the vegans their nut roasts before revealing
they were turkey infused shit cakes.
Let their tears water the feed for next year’s holocaust.

I send you all my Christmas cheer.
A baby is born for your joy,
He will be crucified for your salvation
in a few months time.
This year, let us splay Him on a cross made of dead pine.
I am sure Greta will approve of such recycling;
rubbing her judgmental hands in glee at the West,
whilst her Christmas cards are manufactured
in Chinese sweatshops and prisons.
Have your merry…

A thought is not a fact.
A momentary glance at a televised charity ad
does not give you a free pass to glory.
It is Christmas, so let us not lie and just
accept that when we wake on the twenty-fifth,
the only person we care about is…

Christmas was written and published on Christmas Day 2019.

Copyright © Dominic Lyne, 2019

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