Poem submitted by Simon McKeown
The lonely Christmas walk,
Damp tarmac greeting me –
My only present.
So I dig deep and march,
With nothing you’d call yuletide cheer.
Get through the day with frosted smile,
Dragging-long Bank Holiday early shift.
Going downstairs, ‘Bye’ from
Curly-coiffured, tubby girl,
Her smile as open as a holly wreath.
Highlight of Christmas, low point yet to come.
She didn’t want to go home –
Offered a lift, plain to see what she really wanted,
But that wasn’t going to happen.
No-bus taxi, cheerless driver narked as me,
Back home to coffee, cake and gear,
And then a call from Mum –
She knows my night-time fear.