Christmas Poem by Robert Melliard

Our 'kids' are adults now
and have their independent lives.

The Christmas tree is here
with its little lights and fragile baubles
(thanks to my artistic wife)
and there's the crib as well -
the miniature nativity -
with bread-crumbs for sand,
silver paper for a stream,
cork-bark for mountains,
moss for vegetation,
and legless clay kings and shepherds
(or even headless) hand-painted,
inherited from former generations.

That's the custom in Asturias
(I just found the moss -
my wife did all the rest) .

Christmas trees and Santa
arrived some twenty years ago
and tried hard to replace local traditions
like the one about the crib
or how the three wise men
would bring gifts on January 6th.

Some kids get presents twice nowadays
(so have to write two letters)
and little Santas made in China
climb up balconies of tenth floor flats...

With Anglo influence at home(don't look at me)
we put our presents round the tree
on Christmas Eve, at night,
and open them next day.

Our children used to wake at five,
but feared to unwrap gifts
till we came down, much later;
so they would sit and contemplate
their future joys,
and whisper, and perhaps imagine
what each package might contain.

I wonder if they ever opened things
then wrapped them up again...?

Now, they stay out late
then sleep till twelve,
so breakfast late.
If we're lucky we have lunch together
and chat about old times,
when our family was a team.

They're home on Christmas Eve
and Christmas Day, of course,
but they don't get up at five.
Presents may be less exciting
than they used to be...

Later, when the giving's over, they shop
for stylish Spanish clothes or tasty food
to take to distant countries
where they work or study.

In the evenings, they watch T.V.
or chat in their bedrooms;
meanwhile, I lose myself in blogs.

Sometimes my wife sits alone
in the lounge where she's hung lights and mistletoe,
but where there are few Christmas cards now,
because the people who used to send them
have either died or lost contact
(as we have with them)
or send us fancy emails
(which is quicker, but not the same) .

I remember how (a child in England) ,
I would hang our cards on strings
by using tiny pegs
(sold specially for that purpose)
and in turn hang the string from a nail,
because there were far too many greetings
to fit on shelves and sideboards.

They were part of Christmas decorations,
like torn old paper figures hung in corners,
or paper chains we'd made ourselves
or ancient advent calendars
(with doors and windows lost)
which we adored...

Sometimes I tear myself away from blogs
and scratch my partner's back;
as one ages, attempts at massage
may be a substitute for tiring sex...

As the New Year begins, our 'children'
disappear, returning to low-paid jobs
but independence, too, I guess.

Over the holidays, we cooked good food,
bought wine, washed and ironed their clothes
lent them our car, cleaned the house
(in the mornings while they slept) ,
chopped logs and built a fire,
and offered them whatever cash we could
to subsidize their flights -
so hopefully (with such good cheer)
we'll see them back again next year...

If we ever reach eighty,
we may have to reconsider
this mainly one-way flow.


Note; Sorry if I rambled on a bit. Hope no one falls asleep before the end...