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.