One potato.
Two potato,
Potato three.
Hangs heavy upon the Christmas tree.
Swinging there beside the glamorous sparkly baubles.
Upon the top a tarty barbie.
The residue of Christmas past.
When darling daughters played with dolls.
Barbie wears a grubby dress.
Fake nylon hair a ****** mess.
The grandkids stuck on plastic wings.
A little authenticity.
Teased by the season to be jolly.
Phoney grins.
Old ladies gins.
And buckets of whisky.
The lovely old dear is a little bit frisky.
Out with the lunch.
All sit and munch.
Hey **.
Hope we have snow.
Not a chance.
A merry dance in total farce.
Ladies and gentlemen.
The English lady poet is having a giraffe.
She's a little loud.
Always proud.
What more can I say?
(c)LIVVI