And last of all, the hamper

Kenneth takes the hamper after all;

it’s worth the whole year and more,

the last hamper of them all,

full of mince pies and truffle spread

and little German buns with amaretto

and ginger

and a whole turkey,

and you can hear someone whisper

Couldn’t have gone to a nicer man, but still...

In the corner, Cleo has his head down

to avoid the Santa-hatted hoors 

and Holly Johnson impressions

Ah, mahogany caves don’t come any shadier

than these ones with their glorious secrets

that refuse to be inexpressible  

and tell their all on demoralised tabletops

over and over; and over and over

we say good-bye and -health and -riddance

and promise to share phone numbers

while the filters float like boats below us

along the Red TK rivulet

to the isle of soggy beermat

where all our victories and losses

are remembered in the blue biro

someone’s left behind

And down back, for the last time

Georgie’s singing Last Christmas

and the howls you hear up the front

when he knocks that bloody tree over

and over and over; next year,

he’ll have to knock his bloody own over

and as we head to the door

(raise your prize if you got one)

the final clown’s on the floor

being helped up by the woman

from the bookies he secretly loves;

he’s the last of the clowns we’ll see

on these floors; next year,

there’ll be steadier feet

and the uproar gone forever.

So take one last look at Cleo

with his head down over there

and those Santa-hatted hoors

and your man who never paid his bill

At least Kenneth got the hamper

The last one of them all

Couldn’t have gone to a nicer man, but still...