Christmas Reunions

Vehicles in myriads transporting the nation Intent on gathering round yuletide hearth. Annual homing, pilgrim migration Decides. when arriving, Christmas can start. Is anyone going to the Sales? Number One daughter, collapses in chair, Dead to the world, stays out for the count. Hung over from last night's beer, ribboned hair Now dishevelled, denies she'd drunk that amount And survived, stony- dry mouthed, she says icely Someone must take her to the Sales. Son bustles in, grinning his way through hugs Arms full of stringy brown packaged unknowns Dives for the fridge, lays full length on the rug And hogs the telly all day, plus the phone Conceitedly believing he's being nice. He knows what he wants from the Sales. At last arrive oldsters, spluttering gaily, Protesting this as their best time of year. Coats off and couched, they state any delay In booze means more mistletoe usage, near- Neat whisky and gin only ever suffice! And don't forget drink from the Sales Dinner digesting, now ritual games Begin with controlled opening of gifts. Cooing delights as each Designer named High-priced tag appears, craftily lifted To show off who has bought the best prize. But most will be swapped in the Sales. How dimmed and afar seems the Christmas star Which commerce now tinsels and cling wraps, in Unhealthy deception that love is not marred By so much devotion to gold.The saddest sin Is omission of truth, - as too high a price. Which just does not come in the Sales.