Merry Christmas Mrs Lawrence

By Silver Spun Sand

Mon, 30 Dec 2013
  • 916 reads
2 comments
 
What’s Christmas without candles?
 
I suppose they do their best here –
except, No Naked Flame’s Permitted – not
in my room, they inform me; my chattel – 
this dratted umbilical cord I must tote 
everywhere...pumping the rarest of air 
into my knackered lungs is to blame. 
 
We wouldn’t want to be blown away
in a puff of black smoke, now would we, 
Mrs. Lawrence? 
 
Perish the thought!
 
It’s nice enough here, though – a kind of 
halfway house you could call it...a stopover,
if you like, between this world and the next,
although, at times, it feels more like a prison.
 
No locks on the doors. Instead, iron bars 
on the windows. What the bloody-hell for?
Health & Safety, somewhat over-zealous
these days. God forbid one of us should fall...
by accident, of course, and sully
the forecourt.
 
And yet, speaking for myself, I’d be more
than glad, bordering on ecstatic, if I could 
hasten the inevitable. 
 
Oh...just before you go, take a quick dekko
at my cards. 
 
Folk make one smile, sometimes, and I imagine
they meant well, present company included, but 
they didn’t stop to think, not one of them. Take,
for example, yours. 
 
Merry Christmas & A Happy New Year, it screams at me,
in tacky, silver glitter from the table beside my bed. 
For fuck’s sake! I ask you, how impossible is that? 
 
By the way, so sorry I screwed things up. ’Tis
the Season...and all that crap!
 
A lot more attractive things you could be doing
on Christmas Eve, like getting rat-arsed, as usually
you did – me, back home, peeling sprouts, enough
to feed the five thousand; namely friends 
and family.  Not mine – yours.
 
This year, unfortunately, I’m otherwise engaged –
busy dying, in this out-of-the-way, idyllic, 
country hospice.  
 
So, it’s goodbye then, Mr. Lawrence. I trust
this visit means your conscience is eased – 
for now, that is.
 
Shame our divorce hadn’t quite gone through,
but in a way – I’m pleased.  I shall enjoy being
a thorn in your side for eternity.
 
And I do so hope my understudy turns out
to be even half as good in the sack as I used to be...
which reminds me...
 
I’m sure Father Christmas will bring you
all you deserve, and more, and I mean that
sincerely, of course.
 
And so, what of me?  If he, himself, 
could guarantee I won’t wake up in the morning,
I'd begin to believe, like hell,
in Santa Claus.
Certificate 15
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Silver Spun Sand Poems
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Comments

Submitted by Bee on

There is a bright, wry humour to this, Tina, and much more to it than first meets the eye. It's  cleverly built, with subtle use of rhyme, and her touch of apparent wickedness, for me, makes it fascinatingly enjoyable and sad in equal measure. 

Bee

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, Bee.  You may not have realised it, but you summed up, so well, with your words... the character and personality of the young lady this poem is about...something I had hoped to convey.  

Her story is one of courage, and 'true grit' in the face of adversity, and something I felt compelled to write...six years on, this New Year's Eve, since she passed away.

Many, many thanks for your more than valued thoughts.

Tina