The blue rinse brigade have ris
From warm wooden W.I. enclaves
To stalk the streets
With shopping trolley and walking cane
Grudging spitting vicious disdain
Deliberate over pork pies and pate
Profiteers don Salvation Army cap and cloak
Hearts on sleeves and hands on wallets
Rattle tin cans for pennies
In the hot little TV rooms
Hung with crepe and tinsel like primeval forests
Prudence is forsaken for a good Christmas bash
In a hot alcoholic flush
Typists are bent over their desks
Machinists tupped in the yarn stores
Secretaries in the conference room
Mince pie dust in bra cups and
Cheese sticks on the Axminister
Whatsizname shouldn’t drive but did and
The boss left early to catch the plain to Malaga
Labourers and streetsweepers
As if bitten by some dizzying brain-bug
Repair to ale-houses en masse
Little girls with tinsel coronets sip sweet sherry from polystyrene cups
And lurch through the cold vile shopping streets
Five abreast and looking for mischief
Parents whip their offspring into a distemper of expectation
Children robbed of the dream, tinker with the debris
Gorged with TV spectaculars and a pot
pourri of festive hype
Raddled and squiffy we outflank the moon barking madness we so richly deserve
And go to bed flatulent
Slick chicks, knickers ripped
Pissing on bomb site bricks
Blood and guts
Bar room sluts
Lips glossed and gobbling semen
Yuletide on the frontline
Stitch this jimmy
Tinsel on the IV
Angels with flat shoes
Minister cat gut sutures to craft knife slashes
Full of sound and fury
This Christmas
With holes in it’s shoes.
antiworldsandotherlife 
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