A LONG AGO BOXING DAY NIGHT

 

 

A long ago Boxing day midnight

Sleet falls,

revealed it’s glass tacks by the gleam

of shop window lights,

their passive hue, lying in wait,

luring and taunting with their wares,

their false promise of pleasure.

Garbed in red flash heraldry

stand plastic alabaster faces, lifeless,

wearing the vacant stares

of marketed beauty.

Above, swing huge stars,

ember dim, brazen under truth’s dark radiance,

while santas cling to lamp posts as

though nature itself is

laughing at this, man’s frail crayon

attempt to lift from the mire

the concrete bland.

Like a gutter metronome, a wine glass,

rolls to and fro, smudges, ghosts of

lips and fingers past, appear with each clink

in a constant toast. Intact, it must

have been carefully placed,

yet stolen to drink in the street,

now a monument to dichotomy.

Half a cracker, hops and tumbles past,

odd when not strewn among

postprandial detritus.

This empty crepe wrapped shell,

in that moment,

in that desolate street,

symbolised all that

Christmas had lost.

8 thoughts on “A LONG AGO BOXING DAY NIGHT

  1. And will we ever get it back Nigel. This was the first Christmas where I felt it was completely owned by the profiteers. Good poetry. Like Colleen says it is a poem that draws you back to read it again and again.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Davy, it is an accurate narrative of an experience I had over 25 yrs ago, right down to the wine glass. I imagine with your professional background you have excellent recall too, I have what is sometimes referred to as a ‘freakish’ memory . I was going to post within the festive season but didn’t want to put a negative edge to the proceedings .

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Ha it’s a family thing, my beloved Uncle, a mechanic all his life, a man of considerable intellect, in his 70’s could tell you the bolt size needed for the cylinder head of a 1964 Ford Anglia and any other car he had worked on over 55 years !

        Liked by 1 person

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