Twixtmas

Twixtmas, Oh Merry Twixtmas,
Thou confected, infantile time,
Given breath by the brainless
unable to cope
with the week between Christmas and New Year.
And it’s always a week
by the way,
on account of the 7 days between the 25th and 1st,
but this seems to take you by surprise
Every year
as you stock up for a siege
and shop for an army
and drink for a moron
and then another moron still.

Twixtmas, Merry Twixtmas,
time of Red Cups and sales and tat.
The twinkling streets
hiding their darkness.
The dark hearts, dissatisfied,
buying ever more to bolster their lack.
Without you, where would we be?
By New Year’s Eve, will you even remember?

Mike Hickman (@MikeHicWriter) is a writer from York, England. He has written for Off the Rock Productions (stage and audio), including 2018’s “Not So Funny Now” about Groucho Marx and Erin Fleming. He has recently been published in EllipsisZine, Dwelling Literary, Bandit Fiction, Nymphs, Flash Fiction Magazine, Brown Bag, and Safe and Sound Press. His co-written, completed six-part BBC radio sit com remains unproduced but available to interested producers!

Categories: Poetry

Daily Drunk

Shawn Berman runs The Daily Drunk. You can follow him on Twitter @Sbb_writer.

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