My Christmas Roast
There was Turkey and sausage meat, gammon ham too,
Four pigs in blankets for me, you and you
I did Yorkshire puddings and parsnips well glazed
Sprouts, roast potatoes: I’m thus far unfazed…
But then there was broccoli, cauli and peas
I said to the carrots, “There’s no room for these.”
I plonked them on top… with no room for finesse
The cranberry stuffing did not look impressed
It got relegated onto a side plate
With Yorkshire puds that I’d had to relocate
The gravy went onto the main plate with care
It took quite some skill to keep it on there
Of course I got jibes about plates that don’t fit
“Are we to eat it… or climb over it?”
But all of the leftovers didn’t amount
To something that next year would cause a re-count
Strangely, the Christmas pud wasn’t required
An afternoon walk, it seemed, wasn’t desired
Everyone slumped into armchairs and couches
The custard remained in its unopened pouches
But sometimes a simple man must be ‘that guy’
When dishes and saucepans are piled up high
So, with people dozing I just had to think
“Somebody here has to empty the sink.”
So, rinsing and stacking and running the ‘Hot’
I gave the washing up liquid a shot
I’m washing up after the meal of my life
When suddenly there with a towel… is my wife
She said, “That was perfect, it tasted so good,
You cooked Christmas dinner just as I once could.”
And soon I too dozed in the chair that’s my place
It’s likely that I had a smile on my face
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