OF THE DAY

THE little boy is now an adult and the electronic gadgetry referred to has been superseded, but the family manoeuvres may have a familiar ring! The poem comes with best seasonal wishes to Poem of the Day readers.

THE RITE (A poem for Christmas Eve) I know he knows. He knows I know he knows. And yet tonight We’ll re-enact that sweet, daft pagan rite. He’ll hang for Santa, sock or pillowcase (Conspicuous consumption marks the youngest of the race). I’ll sneak upstairs with offering for the boy, Not myrrh or frankincense or simple toy – But Sony stereo (graphic equalised he’ll boast), On which he’ll play the loutish wailing of the lost, And seedless oranges from the kitchen store. The latter may delight him even more, Such is a child’s distain for price as worth. I’ll seek the baby’s lineaments within the sleeping face And half expect a gleeful torch-beam in their place, But probably, discreetly, he will slumber, Counting cold-nosed reindeer, ‘prezzies’ without number. Does this conniving at benign mutual deceit Instil hypocrisy or make our bond complete? LD