Christmas Eve
And I'm in bed,
With bloodshot eyes
And banging head,
Not through over indulgence
As you may think,
Or copious tipples
Of festive drink,
Christmas Day
And I’m in bed,
With a snake rattle cough
That would summon the dead,
So don’t bring me your glad tidings
Of goodwill and wealth,
'Cause my nose is streaming
And I’m feeling sorry for myself,
Boxing Day
And I'm in bed,
Drugged up to the eyeballs
Popped every pill or remedy
That's available to take,
But this Yuletide viral monster
Is impossible to shake,
New Year's Eve
And I’m still in bed,
No chance of testing out
My new suede shoes,
While I'm down in the dumps
With the Yuletide blues,
And the paper tissue shuffle
To keep me awake,
The bronchial rock and roll
Are the only New Year moves
I'm likely to make!
Diane Scantlebury
