An Ode to Christmas

3 days before Christmas came the school presentation,

A month of planning, rehearsal and teacher fixation.

All came down to one night with a 200-odd crowd,

seeing the kids sing, dance and act – it made them feel proud.

“A rioutous laugh” they said, “hilarious wit”,

What genius to include human sheep, 2 minute noodles and angels – all in one bit!

The singing superb, the dancing graceful.

The poor sound quality, led by Brad, distasteful.

After the event the excitement persisted,

with samosa and coffee to fuel them, sleep was resisted.

Now they could relax and look forward to that day,

When a jolly red fat man, a visit would pay.

Such conjecture, guessing and overall angst,

Up there with Iraq war two, I believe it does rank.

“What presents?”, “how many?”, “what food?”, “how much?”

These were the questions and like and such.

From near and far, the visitors ranks swelled,

Until Christmas Eve, when 200 here dwelled.

The curry chicken, white bread, biscuits, coffee could not be beaten,

Such a feast that night was eaten.

For the older ones, parties were showered,

We had dancing, singing and fires that towered.

Until Christmas came at the stroke of midnight,

And we all went to bed to wait for first light.

When awoken by noise, by cries of glee.

No sleep was achieved from six forty three!

Toys, clothes and bric-a-brac were pulled from their wrapping,

The kids all adorned in their best Christmas trappings.

At ten another delicious meal was due,

Hardly looked at however for their eyes they did glue,

On a small Christmas tree in the corner, that could hardly be seen,

For the big pile of presents, the amounts, obscene.

The floor became a sea of crinkled up paper,

Amidst a flotilla of gifts, the sight quite a caper.

As children exploded outside to play with the toys,

A moments rest I found without noise.

What better time to open my gift,

So excited, as it was so heavy to lift.

But alas my enjoyment was terribly suspended,

When all I got was a rock, Hindi skills were depended!

It read “Suhanna ka Pati” in Indian script,

I knew what it meant, I was not to be licked.

To track down a baby’s Dad I did wander,

To find another clue, of this puzzle I grew fonder.

“I Hope you get the next clue” it stated,

I asked a girl for an inkling, with my breath bated.

A numeric code was the next bit of enigma,

I grew worried of failing, and gaining a stigma.

But solved it I did, through sheer genius,

I’ll spare you the details – it’s a bit tedious.

The game went on until it ended and my conundrum was fixed,

But when I received my gift, my reactions were mixed.

Some lovely bright cloth, cotton and wrapped

For a shirt, long-sleeved, but still I felt trapped.

Some say I was rude, when I raised quite a stink,

Not for the quality, no this cloth it was pink!

Now it may gel for metro’s and men of other persuasion,

But for me I can’t think of a single occasion,

That puts me in a pink shirt, for public to see.

Except now for parties that have a bright shiny tree

I’ll retell this war story with great joy,

and display to the world without feeling coy,

This pink badge of courage, earned in the trench

But then I might shower to get rid of the stench.

So that was my Christmas, it was so very spectacular,

In comparison, Oz next year will be crap, excuse the vernacular.

Only 1 year away, then I must draw the line,

Then I’ll relive the Christmas of two thousand and nine.