12th night

All that glistered

and shone its baubled light

has been devoured

again.

The cardboard appetite

of attic boxes,

once more satisfied,

returned to quiet hibernation

awaiting another rising star.

The residue of tinsel,

captured in a vacuum of time

for another time,

trapped in tired boxes

showing their age.

The once-glanced cards

await their fate,

the annual cull –

vivisection recycling

or the ignominy

of an orange bin.

This is Christmas now,

wrapped in untidiness

and memories,

trapped in photos

of merry children,

and the workings

of thank you notes.

 

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