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'Twas the Week Before Christmas

'Twas the Week Before Christmas

What is it about?

'Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the town
Not a shopper was smiling, they each wore a frown;
The cars they were parked in their bays willy-nilly,
Whilst pedestrians dashed to-and-fro running silly;

The children were screaming for this toy or that
Whilst their grandparents scanned for milk allergies and fat;
And mammas in Ugg boots and dads in bad sweaters,
They fast-scanned "Dear Santa, I want..." in kids' letters.

When out in the darkness there arose such a clamour,
The music was pounding in Christmassy glamour.
Away into shops flew the bargain hunters,
Whilst shop attendants served and then argued with punters.

The tinsel on plasticky black Norway Spruce
Was a sickening glow of a strange plummy puce,
And the twinkle and flash of the fairy lights hit
Every eye, causing headaches, and in some, a fit.

Christmas pamphlets and glitter lay strewn in the street
With the remnants of kebabs the drunks couldn't eat.
More rapid than thieves flew the folk from the margins
Of town, they descended to grab up the bargains.

"Now sprouts! now my chutney! now crackers and beers!
Now chocolate! now cheese sticks, now a cake with six tiers!
To the top of the trolley! Ov'rflowing with goods!
Now dash right back in! You've forgotten the puds!"

As demons that meet in a battle for souls
Every shopper had fights over trite things like rolls.
So up to the tills with their trolleys they ran
With their presents and food and a new turkey pan.

And then, in the midst, someone's card was misplaced
Amongst huffing and puffing, they stood there red-faced.
"There's no time to stop, this is not a dry run,
This is Christmas, for feck's sake, they're ruining the fun!"

The tickets on cars were beginning to lapse,
The warden was hoping for a bonus, mayhaps.
In a race to the carpark and joining the queue,
"Buy another hour's ticket!" Gran needed the loo.

Back home again via McDonalds, why not?
Getting four Happy Meals and a black coffee, hot!
"Shove the kids in the bath, Dear, and get out the wine,
Never mind what I got you, did you forget mine?"

Down the road in a flat, even Billy-No-Mates
Had bought himself presents and loaded up plates
With some mince pies and turkey, and put on the telly,
Wearing new socks (his old ones were really quite smelly).

He watched Christmas Specials, a quiz and some sketches,
But turned off the news (why see miserable wretches?).
The whiskey was opened and cares drunk away,
Never minded at last, at least, 'til the next day.

And back to the streets, shopping last-minute stuff,
One more present for neighbours, the choice is quite tough.
Push your way through the crowds, through a jostling blur,
Or shop on the internet (best way, I concur).

And now ask yourself, in this press for The Day,
Are these details important? Who can and will say?
Does it matter if we lose the point? Can we see?
Where's Christmas in all this, for you and for me?

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