Not waiting for the 12th night
It’s time to say goodbye:
To the tinsel, too naff for the tree, too scratchy for the neck
To the single cracker
To the unsent cards, drawn by a six-year-old, sold by the PTA
To the optimistic baubles, a new one every year
To the Santa hat with its whiff of a party-ready ‘do’
To the pine needle sadness
To the wadge of cardboard, trussed up in lights
To the labels and the ribbons and the resolution to do it better next year
To the jigsaw piece
And the star that still makes the tree too tall for this ceiling
