Christmas

 

Christmas

The winter feast
of gluttony
beats its heavy-footed path
to our wreathed
and tinseled door
once more.

Roaring its carols,
red Coke Can Santa
pushes brittle toys
in our children's faces
and we let him
and they let him

Because it's Christmas
and it must be fun.
Because in some golden past
a story
told us it was so.
And they believed it
and we believed it.

And ignored,
cowering in a corner,
is Compassion.
Forgotten, like the book
of poems purchased
by a well meaning aunt.
Shoved to the back of the tree
and packed away
after Twelfth Night.
Never to be read.

Tim Fellows 2018