After the Feasting's Done (Poetry)

The cat’s had several baubles off the tree
turkey bones are strewn across the lawn
finches on the fence flit restlessly
the air is bright — unseasonably warm.

There’s wrapping paper spilling from the bin
ribbon, too — that labour all undone
now presents pile — the squashy and the thin —
all mystery revealed when half the fun

was guessing — really hoping — they might be
the things we’d written plain on Santa’s list
the ohs and ahs expressed so gratefully
disguising they weren’t quite what we had wished ...

The meal was good — the crackers and the hats —
the jokes we laughed at heard most years before
and, all in all, the day went well and that’s
the best we could have planned and catered for

but afterwards — once expectation’s gone —
something lingers — haunts the idle mind
a shadow hovers, sorry to move on
its purpose vague, its spirit undefined.

We’ve feasted well, we’ve raised a glass or two
welcomed friends and greeted kith and kin
fed the birds, sent Charity a few
small donations, claimed a chance to win

a holiday — a car ... So why this sense
there’s something we’ve forgotten in the rush?
The pounds are spent — we count remaining pence
and ponder in the post prandial hush...

This modern Christmas lacks the charm of old —
where did the magic and the wonder go?
We blame commercialism — truth be told
we’ve lost the joy — and tinsel isn’t snow.