*sigh*
It’s that awkward time of year again
And I’m old enough to acknowledge the tension
That is Christmas, a time all children should learn to love
And all the golds and silvers and greens and reds blur into one ugly shade of confusion, a kaleidoscope, a shade never been invented

Three stuffed puppets sit on the table watching the same old movies every year
Laughing to things that are not funny, choosing what to say when and where it’s not appropriate

And nobody’s singing or smiling or getting drunk on mulled wine
But mum leaves a glass out where dad should be
And mum carves the dry Turkey that she knows no one will eat
Or the next day as Leftovers

And nan croaks with her heart in throat forcing a distant hyme granddad used to sing outside her door that chilly evening in ‘45
When heroic men could truly celebrate Christmas

She said she can remember him singing but she can’t hear his voice, we say she’s gone crazy but we don’t send her away to a caring home because mum can’t bake cookies like she can
She sometimes feels guilty that she’s dead weight, but it’s easier to look after someone else than ourselves
Or to love them, than ourselves

So Instead we cry into our ridiculous novelty jumpers wishing we were somewhere, anywhere else
Instead of living like three strangers in the same house