Christmas Night Poem by Bryan Harford

And there it was, the remnants of
The lord's birth;
His holy flesh, the Turkey crown,
Sprouts, carrots and a little Sobriety,
Consumed without mirth,
Chestnut stuffing, potatoes and all…

Flatulently full, whilst toasting the lord,
I wandered in search of his apostles,
And eventually found, but one,
Who sermonised on Christmas night.
He gave succour, blessings and sanctuary
Within the halo'd shrine to quarter-pound heaven.