An evening of coffee and little gifts exchanged The tension in the air suggests a ceasefire A ceasefire called moments before we arrived Everyone commanded to hold their positions
A wounded husband bleeds out near the eggnog His wife sharpens her bayonet by the creche Eager for the bugle to sound once again For an advance all along the battle line
A child stares sullenly into his video game It is the only Christmas peace he’s going to get