Both day and night
I keep my windows opened wide,
inviting chill winter air
to reside in my bones.
Voices from outside break into my thoughts;
greetings, brief weather-based talk,
merry Christmas and goodbye.
Along the road beyond,
motorists consider last-minute gifts
they plan to buy,
While they whizz through supermarkets picking up too much food.
Soon they’ll scrape the waste into the bin,
saying that next year
they won’t get so carried away,
adding that everyone had a good time
and that’s the main thing.
In the distance, I picture busy shops,
imagine men choosing frillies and fripperies in an instant,
irate mothers queueing to pay
for Uncle Ray’s aftershave,
While they grab extra chocolates just in case,
itching for the big day.
In houses all around, parcels
pile high beneath Christmas trees.
Soon, floors will be festooned
with discarded ribbon and glittery litter.
Kitchens will be fragrant with rich flavours.
Kids will bounce and shout,
too overwhelmed to play with new toys.
Grandparents will recall when Christmas
contained both less and more.
Families will be cosy
behind closed doors.
Tables will be lined up in church halls,
serving turkey to the dispossessed.
The date for posting gifts and cards
While there is still time
to buy gifts,
I cannot whip up a miracle
inspiring this hiccupping brain
to make it right.
With windows opened wide
I feel the winter air
bite my bones.
I focus on the cold,
noting that my emotions are not frozen,
This year, all I can provide
is love, and a crossed-finger vow
that the ice
©Jane Paterson Basil