Christmas time is Summer time in New Zealand. This poem is for those who find Christmas more than they can handle at times.

Aunties arguing, with apprehension

And animated voices, over amazing accusations.

Babies bellowing as they’re bounced and burped

On the bony knees of beery-breathed strangers.

Christmas cake crumbling with currants catapaulting

As it’s carefully cut into cute little cubes.

Dreadful decorations dangling and drooping

Dangerously down from above the doorway.

Embarrassing explosion and electricity eliminated

As entangled extension cord effusively erupts.

Four-footed friends, fat and flea ridden,

Flop with fatigue on favourite furniture.

Grandma and Grandad groaning, not grinning,

As growing grandchildren gallop through the garden.

Harrassed husband hollers and hoots

As he helps himself to half-cooked ham.

Interesting ideas intermingle with ice-cream

As they slide invisibly into the night.

Juniors in jandals and jaded jeans

Joke about jellybeans and jiggly jelly.

Kiwi kids karate and kick around the kitchen

Keen to kidnap the kiwifruit kebabs.

Luminous lights lit up like lollipops

Leaning lopsidedly on low-hung rooves.

Magnificent Mums mildly maintaining

Marginal manners amongst the mob.

Ninety year old Nana from a  nearby nursing home

Nods and nudges at her nephew’s new nose ring.

Obstreperous oldies offering objectionable opinions

As they observe the others obliterate the food.

Peculiar presents, paid for by plastic card,

In patterned paper perched under the tree.

Quarrels and quibbles and all in a  quandary

Over the questionable quality of roasted quail.

Raucous relatives rant and rave

As they remember the recipe for rabbit pie.

Silvery stars stuck in the branches

Saluting strangers in this stupid season.

Teenagers texting to twenty-two friends

They haven’t talked to for twenty-four hours.

Unusual utterances from under-the-weather uncles

As they watch us unwrap unwanted presents.

Vintage vacuum cleaner vibrates like a volcano

As its invisible victims virtually vanish.

Wine and whisky washed down willingly

While wishful wives wait under the wreath.

Exaggerated excitement and extra exuberance

As extroverted exhibitionists watch x-rated movies.

Yesterday’s youths in yellow yachtie caps

Yapping together telling yuletide tales.

ZZZZZZZ! They’re dozing

After an over zealous Krizmas Day.

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Comments (1)
  • thestickman on Dec 7, 2009

    …and a partridge in a pear tree!

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