While out with the dogs I saw an inflatable Father Christmas, lying slack on a driveway.
It lay there, on the flooded patio, Deflated and spent, like a giant's condom; The spectre of Christmas in a puddle. Hung from the tree, darkened lights, That in the night shone bright, Now smirked and revealed the sham Of stars fallen to Earth. Green bins bursting open with bottles and paper stand skew-whiff reeking of "I know not what." Traffic absent, the roads lay empty And become the paths, as parked cars Mount the pavement with wind mirrors folded. The feverishness of Advent reached its peak With a day of eating, drinking and being merry. Now, in the hiatus before New Year, Tiredness, grief and "What now?" descend, And with festive pyjamas, we land deflated and spent In front of the telly.