Merry Christmas! Poem by David Lewis Paget

‘The neighbours are holding a Christmas fete, '
She said, ‘have asked us to go along,
It's fancy dress, we can go there late,
I know you'll say that we don't belong.'

I huddled down in my easy chair
Ignored her then, and turned to my book,
‘I know that you heard me, foul or fair,
And stop putting on that hunted look! '

I groaned, ‘We went seven years ago,
A rank disaster, what about Beth?
She came on strong on the Dosey Doe
Couldn't we try just faking my death? '

‘I'm not sitting here this Christmas Eve
With you, we're going, the party's huge,
After an hour you can get up and leave.'
‘Okay, ' I said, ‘I'm going as Scrooge! '

The wife dressed up as a Fairy Queen
A great big pudden with fairy wings,
I jammed a Topper down on my bean
Then glued on whiskers and scowled at things.

The host wore his Father Christmas suit,
His brats dressed up as the seven dwarfs,
While Beth walked round with a plastic flute
In a see through top, to the others gawps.

Oliver wore a mistletoe hat
While Jenny was dressed like a bottle of beer,
The punch was spiked and the music flat
So I batted a dwarf right under the ear.

The wife waltzed round with a lame Tin Man
While I got drunk at the corner bar,
Then Beth kept coming to brush my hand
And tried to lead me, out to their car.

I must admit that I did resist,
She wasn't as svelte as she used to be,
The wife made signs like slashing her wrists
Each time that she saw her approaching me.

Whenever a guest would beam ‘Good Cheer! '
I'd say, ‘Bah humbug! ' - ‘Rot your socks! '
They thought I was kidding, ‘Drink your beer,
I hope it's poisoned with chicken pox! '

At midnight, there was the sound of bells
That tinkled down from the patio roof,
The sort of a sound a Scrooge repels
When sipping on whiskey, forty proof.

A man came into the dining room
All dressed in red with a great big sack,
The host was livid: ‘There's only one,
If that's your costume then take it back! '

The guy had a big white flowing beard
And he Ho-Ho-Ho'd to the surly host,
‘I've got the presents for everyone here,
But nothing for Scrooge, or Marley's ghost! '

They all got a present from him but me,
And I thought, ‘Bah, Humbug! Christmas sucks! '
But begging the question, who was he?
If it really was him, I'm out of luck!

We're finally home, and I now believe,
‘Wasn't it lovely, ' the wife exclaims,
‘I really enjoyed this Christmas Eve.'
But all I can hear are Marley's chains!

16 December 2012