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One more before the fun begins tomorrow.

A Father’s Silence

For Christmas Day,
I’d like to have,
The following,
By the tree.
So lend an ear,
And listen hard,
But listen,
Comf’tably.

I don’t want noise,
‘Cuz too much din,
Will make me scratch,
And blink.

Cacophony,
Like celebrity,
Can drive a man to drink.

So whisper should you need to shout,
And hum whene’er you sing.
And if you have to chew the fat,
Please chew with no teeth in!

And on Christmas morning,
Before you rend your gifts,
Don’t rip the wrap,
Until you’ve soaked,
Your presents,
In sloe gin.

What’s that you say?
What is the point,
Of sloe gin,
By the tree?

It wets the paper,
Wets your brain,
And is coloured festively.

And breakfast should be silent.
Ripe bananas,
And blueberries.
How ever did they get there?
In plastic bowls,
With plump, red cherries?

In order that no eggs are cracked,
Or toast is scraped,
Or batter whacked,
I’ll help you out.

No, I insist!
Don’t thank me now.
You’ll get the gist.

I know you’ll like my kitchen craft,
And my velvet fist.
Designed to keep things quiet,
And maintain the festive bliss!

And as the day progresses,
And people,
Come and go,
And as the children,
Try to play,
With toys,
They’d like to know.
I’ll shoo them out the back door,
Into the fresh, white snow!

That will keep the clang contained,
At twenty degrees below!

And when the day is over,
And we’re off to bed,
And as you make your way upstairs,
Remember what I’ve said.

I did not insist,
That quiet here,
Was for your mother’s sake.

Nor did I ask,
To keep it down,
For anyone,
Who lives in town.

I considered it a favour.
A need that there must be,
For a sleeping baby Jesus,
And, of course,
For me!

- 2015