Tuesday, 25 December 2012

Every year

it’s clear
that Xmas day is my mate
John’s birthday

and any old glitter on the table,
scissors and sellotape,
will be in play.

As two festivals collide
he often gets the thought
that, ultimately,  everything unites

although, as he looks out through
swiveling snow,
we know that (deep down) too

it bugs him – because
he keeps squinting to the East,
waiting for the next Jesus

coming - the second one
who will turn the table, soften
his inevitable burden.

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