In Tinsel Time

In tinsel time the bells do chime.
We deck the halls and shopping malls
with plastic bough and holly wreath.
The conjured tricks that lie beneath
the plastic magic make-believe
pull cheap tradition from the empty sleeve
and, with the angel chorus on demand,
demand the payment of the damned
by overdraft and plastic cards,
with season's greetings and regards
for Christmas Joy and Yuletide Cheer;
the end of one more bloody year.

In tinsel time the bells do chime
the dance of money and the mime
of love's best giving soon forgot.
And in each cardboard palace, hot
inside each borrowed suit of red,
each Father Christmas pats the head
of every child, drags out the lie;
and so the holy days go by
and fall beneath the pounds and pence
that parents value more than sense.
The harlot traders rub their hands and cheer
the end of one more bloody year.

In tinsel time the bells do chime
and all rejoice and with one voice
proclaim, disclaim, complain the lack
of honesty in Santa's sack.
The parties drag from pub to pub
and end up at somebody's club
and after, in the morning pain,
the disenchanted mutter "not again"
and stagger through another day
but then, again, go out to play;
Until, at last, the bells they hear
that start another bloody year.

Kim James
12/12/95