Boxing Day

All across the country women  
squeezing yet more (turkey) bowls
and (brandy butter) basins
into fridges that were never meant
for (another half lemon) all this juggling
with the needs of (left-over sprouts) partners
and what (remains of a trifle) children
might be (roasted parsnips) persuaded
to eat (scraps of ham) if they can only
(cheese) disguise the first appearance
perhaps (stuffing) under a tomato sauce
or (gravy) sandwiched with (soup)
a TV programme so absorbing
that (custard) no one will notice
what (the last sausage) they are eating.

D.A. Prince

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  D.A. Prince   would be pleased to hear them.