The grey ghoul masks, tan mummy wraps,
    black witch's hats and corpse green Frankenstein faces
    haven't hit the bottom of the bin before
mince pies jockey for a place beside the hot-cross buns.
Halloween and Christmas are squeezed together
    tighter than a coin’s width.

Tinsel boy band advent calendars
    sell 24 chocolate milestones
    on the road to obesity.
Supermarkets offer a sanitised Christmas
    religion rinsed away
    like bacteria on a chlorine washed turkey.
They trade a childless nativity like
    pies without mince;
    sultan-less fruit cake;
    plum-less pudding;
an unstuffed winter holiday roast.

People wonder where our culture has gone:
      we sold it for a midden
      of conveniently packaged banality.