28 December 2012
On the day after the day after Boxing Day, Santa wakes up, eventually, Puts away his big red suit and wellies, Let Rudolph and the gang out into the meadow, Then shaves his head and beard.
He puts on his new cool sunglasses, Baggy blue Bermuda shorts (he's sick of red), A yellow stripy T-shirt that doesn't quite cover his belly, And let's his toes breathe in flip- flops.
Packing a bucket and spade, Fifteen tubes of Factor Twenty suncream, And seventeen romantic novels, He fills his Walkman with all the latest sounds, Is glad to use a proper suitcase instead of the old sack, And heads off into the Mediterranean sunrise, Enjoying the comforts of a Boeing 747, (Although he passes on the free drinks).
Six months later, Relaxed, red and a little more than stubbly, He looks at his watch, adjusts his wide- brimmed sunhat, Mops up the sweat from his brow and strokes his chin, Wondering why holidays always seen to go do quickly.
The Day After The Day After Boxing Day • Opuss № I