Ghosts of Christmas Present *

My beautiful mother
has been crying over the past for 35 years.

When I was knee-high,
I asked her to explain when the past begins.
‘Now’, she said. ‘Now, now, now, now.’
‘Isn’t that the present?’

A pause for thought. ‘No.’

           ~

Today, the arrogance of youth sleeps.
‘Are these cranberries properly mashed?’
I ask, seeking maternal reassurance.

Mother carries on weeping like a scene
from Carry On Weeping.
‘Is that a genuine Carry On film?’

She can't respond. Too many memories.

           ~

At the seat of the room they all wear masks.
We laugh because it’s funny —
‘You look like Marie Antoinette!’
‘Ha ha! Let them eat Christmas cake!’

‘She never said that you know.’
‘Yes she did. She's famous for it.’
‘No, it’s a misquote. One of history’s little faux pas.’

           ~

‘Anyway. . . Quality Street?’

Lucy points to a large sign above the bar —
NO CHOCOLATE ALLOWED.
‘But it’s Christmas!’
‘Yes, but everyone here is a chocoholic.’

Luckily, I’d hidden a Wispa in my bag.
No one need ever know.

           ~

Two bowls of untouched cranberry sauce.

The punch lacks kick & we all know why.
Somebody can't find any work.
Somebody is approaching a nervous breakdown.

‘I’m having a nervous breakdown.’
So that was the future, leaping red-faced
into the present.


* First appeared in Great Works, March 2009