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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