As I tried to work on my dissertation the other day, an idea for a narrative poem kept floating around my head. So, in a desperate act of procrastination, I fleshed it out and wrote it down. Sifting through various magazine's websites, I soon realised that even if I could get it published (need money!) it would not be out in time for Christmas. Thus, as a very crappy Christmas present to the world:
Merry Christmas to some and to most a good night
They came for the Grinches one December night,
In festive garb with smiles aglow.
They found unadorned houses and knocked on the doors,
And dragged the Grinches out into the snow.
Imprisoned in vans, the Grinches glanced at each other,
And asked to the darkness, “What have we in common?”
Some would realise what brought them together.
“‘Tis the season,” the church bells intoned.
They were kept in chains, deep out of sight,
Away from the fun, away from the light.
This month was special and they were dissenters
This year there would be no-one but Santas.
No-one noticed their absence,
As Christmas dawn broke.
No-one idled in bed, no-one refused the mince pies,
No-one stayed home from church, no-one rolled their eyes.
No-one laughed at the Queen, no-one faked their surprise,
No turkey was wasted, no-one questioned the lies.
Angel Clarence was there, and Tiny Tim,
Bing Crosby, Cliff Richard, and Slade.
But there was no Ebenezer, no Pumpkin King,
No Jimmy Stewart, no Gremlins, and no John McClane.
All the cynics were missing,
And no-one complained.
Every house lit up brightly, every hat on a head.
Silence broken by carols, sung from a sled.
A perfect Christmas,
With the Grinches all gone,
A true celebration,
The Santas had won.