Unplug
the fairylights before bedtime
Royalty
wearing paper crowns,
amongst
snapped crackers and sherry,
battled
with burnt turkey thighs,
passing
round sharper knives
and
pointier forks in a cavalry charge of cutlery.
A
kitten pawing baubles
near
the balding tree’s stump
shook
pine needles from its mane
taking
a running jump into a box where
a
urinating baby had laid.
Itchy
knitwear smothered
a
boy sneaking in from the garden
after
shooting two robins
and
the next-door-neighbour-but-one
with
a GAT gun whilst out hunting a partridge.
Farts
and reruns filled the air
and
batteries from smoke alarms
powered
a train chugging along
plastic
tracks, beside skirting boards,
derailed
by a tartan slipper.
Fairylights
circling the roof
spat
sparks, flames snaked
down
the walls, each room
razed
to the carpet in seconds,
doused
with a giant glass of egg nog.
The
fire engine from last year
gathering
dust under bunk beds
was
not needed, for the charred remains
of
tenants asleep in the dolls house
were
carried away by remote control ambulance. Matthew Stoppard
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