A Christmas pudding in a stained pan
which leaves a trail of steam across the garden
as it bubbles away on top of an old Primus stove
left alone, outside on the stone flags.
A giant, strange smelling, plastic yogi bear
sitting in the middle of the back kitchen
who bounces straight back up, ever cheerful,
when you try to knock him over.
An old twisted paper decoration,
a string of faded green ivy leaves,
which stretches out across the whole length
of the geranium covered back kitchen window.
An advent crown with all four candles lit
in the darkness of a cold nave at midnight.
A church full of villagers surrounding me
as I sing the last verse of O Come All Ye Faithful.
A broken red and white glass cockatoo
swaying on a tree held on by a rusty clip
showing off a new tail made from goose feathers
that my granddad had plucked.
A Radio Times, with TV shows carefully marked
and the pages turned back to show the right day.
A handbook for Christmas which promises sunshine
and laughter in the middle of winter.
A box of Thorntons toffees sitting in a drawer
next to my granddad’s Windsor chair,
It is exactly the same box as I give him every year.
If I could just slip back home and buy him something different……….