Déjà Vu Poem by Mark Parry

Wrapped in darkness
And the chill filled night,
Three boys sing their seasonal song,
Reminding me of the last time
I walked through
Deep thirsty mud
In wellington boots:
Ponderous, unsure, adrift,
Bereft of boot and sock.

I am uncertain exactly
Which carol is performed?
So muffled the words,
So slurred the tune,
But I knew that if I didn't react
To the repetitive
Demands of the doorbell
These waits would
Collapse in confusion
As they reached beyond
The one verse…
The one short verse…
The limit of their known world.

I open the door
And the concert concludes abruptly.
Six hopeful eyes turn to my hands
As I present my Magi's gift of gold
To these three pilgrims of the night.
They give a lustful 'Merry Christmas! '
And run down the path
As I half close the door.
'How much did ee give us Dan? '
I hear one ask.
'Only twennie pee, ' he replied.
'Bloody tight and ‘im living in
A big owse like that.'

It is déjà vu.
For across five decades
That same scene:
That same lack of clarity of voice
Another vagabond knocked another's door
With Christmas cheek
And buoyant expectation
That something good
Might come to this herald of glad tidings.