Monday, January 02, 2017

Eighth Night

In a particular street, in a particular town,

they have gone all-out for Christmas.

Loitering polar bears sniff tarmac floes

a cascade of lights pour between plastic windows

while swans glide along imprinted concrete

and a tipsy Rudolph joins his prancing brethren

high on glowing toadstools and enchanted trees.

Above it all the moon and its sixpence is crisp and clear.

A consolation for twelfth night.


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