A Sonic Boom At Christmas
With Christmas nigh upon us,
The naysayers are out.
Again to cast aspersions,
On little brussel sprouts.
These iron laden taste bombs,
I jump to their defense.
My favourite Christmas veg,
Despite the flatulence.
The smell as they are cooking,
Some find so nauseating.
Not me though I love it,
I stand there salivating.
After Christmas dinner,
I trawled around the plates.
Gathering up leftover sprouts,
Just asking to be ate.
But there was a price to pay,
It was like a sonic boom,
The cat shot up the Christmas tree,
As the family fled the room.
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