No point in wanting until January for this one, I think. Like Sir Arthur Streeb-Greebling, I used to like Christmas when it was all about naked commercialism but nowadays I notice an element of religion creeping in, and I don’t like that. No really, I hate Christmas and everything to do with it, so consider me in an almighty sulk until January.
In lapsed honour of the some other time
arrival of a god not mine
bin day finds the grass verge strewn
with stripped brown trees in a tatty line
celebrating nothing and no one.
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