The world according to Godistricksy

thin shafts of light light up my room,
lifting the seductive-seasonal-gloom,
popping the elfin mediocrity.

i struggle with my Christmas depressing gown,
all-fluffy-soft-as-down-terry-towelling,
which hangs on me like a stocking.

at 7am, i should be tucked up asleep,
not pacing dappled floorboards
in Christmas slippered feet.

coffee. ah. sweet caffeine.
a cup of joe on the go, a pick-me-up
before the bastards grind-me-down.

it’s been snowing again. hanging like
curdled semolina against window panes:
a sick back-to-work-joke.

all around the house is still.
contented snores fill the air as i,
suited-and-suitably-booted, depart.

the outside is not like the inside.
it is hullabalooic-unhappy-icy.
the morning light is weak and unkind.

there can be no turning back now.
post-festivious office banter beckons.
another cup of joe and a stale mince pie.

thin shafts of light light up my office,
lifting the seductive-seasonal-gloom,
popping the corporate mediocrity.

it’s horrible.

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