Just resting my eyes
as the lights in the tree dance
and some well trodden narrative
of Christmas redemption plays
in gloss on TV

the grey pull of January
is at bay for now
held off by cellophane wrappers
and the smells of a decadent kitchen

though not a Christian
I’ll be thankful anyway,
aware of the drop either side

I’ll let my usual pissy niggles rest
til next year

We’re waiting for you, little pearl,
not that we need you to rush
take your time as the arms to catch you
will cwtch forever

Your mama has laid layer and layer
of love on you,
egg-shell cautious love

So be rambunctious on arrival
and we’ll mostly forgive sleepless nights

Just come little pearl
come in little girl

our world awaits x

For every craven decision
undecided, so chums can slide,
callous in pursuit of cash,
kings of the UK trash pile

Borders discussed through arrogant huffs
on last minute deadlines that always die
rolling from meeting to meeting
indicated by all that foreign wine and cheese:
such is the country, such is the disease

Today’s slow cooked ragu
has a lot of familiar ingredients
but spun a little different

The devil in the pork grease
gave me such a wink
I lost my place in the recipe

Liberal with salt, chili flakes,
zest and anything,
this quixotic cook’s hand
throws much freer than weekdays

I only lack the fat slack
of pappardelle for this,
as they were out at the supermarket

Penne will have to do

Having dispatched the sound rabble
with mostly love,
our already flaccid balloon
deflates with a final raspberry

a fitting fanfare to a term
that left its markers marked,

the shared mirth,
across eyes and hearts,
at a **** noise
proving once again:
we are why we’re here

Winter nights, long
like the light is lost in thought
I sometimes think of you
and the equation of our loss/gains

even though I’m **** at maths
and numbers are for squares
the outcome on the page
is positive

Call call callous
all wretched all broken all

hear the melody call
discordant heart
arrhythmic

choked, abysmal
abyss, abyss

while the clock still ticks
are we