A Merry Christmas (Poetry)

They were in high spirits even before we got there —
smiling at the door when we arrived —
the warmth in the room spilling out into the avenue’s
quiet and chill December air.

The heat inside was a bright bubble that afternoon —
infectious with the season’s mood —
we sat exchanging glances as the scene unfolded —
this old couple strangely animated — faces lit by a shared
                                glow.

For whatever reason, they were as children —
playful, joking — forgetful of their aches and pains —
no moans and groans for once, but resolutely cheerful
and, if not love, then vague affection flowed between.

So, we were caught up in the moment and accepted
the offer of a sherry — Harvey’s Bristol Cream —
and she peered in their too-crowded china cabinet
for the best glasses — half-full of fluff she failed to see.

We sat and sipped and watched how the jolly season drugged
                                them silly, plus a drink or two as well
releasing some benevolent genie in that dusty bottle who
had brought them closer — prompted her spontaneously to say
‘We’re all right, aren’t we?’ And he nodded, straight away.

Afterwards, on the long walk home through cold and empty streets
we talked about them — curious as to why their attitudes were so
                                changed
to one another and indeed the world — as though the ghost of
                                Christmas past
had paid a visit — reminded them that life is short... Perhaps
it dawned this year might be, for one or both of them, their last.