christmas where a girlfriend worked

my time with Tessa was pretty much up


it was on the cards -
it did not need a tarot reader -
sex had dwindled from a summer
of no holds barred
to an autumn of no chance
of a hold at all.


so, in October when she asked
if I’d be her school Santa –
I figured, despite the evidence,
I must still be ‘well in there’.


‘maybe you’ve misread the runes
it’s a ‘woman thing’ she’s going through.’


(whatever that was)


I do not ‘do’ Christmas
for cliché reasons
and a few known only to me.
but if I played the part
my parts should get played with too –


a drunken, fumbling, kissy kissy
‘thank you, darling’ would do.


from September to December
in an unspoken love-ban
Theresa reprised Lysistrata
to perfection.


while she tossed and turned
whistled, purred, and snored.
beside me - but not touching.
 
I laid awake wondering
what I’d done wrong,
weighing various options.


‘ hang in there - there’s still hope... maybe.
at least you’ve got the front door key’


Father Christmas day:


the school sec. passed me a bin liner
of Santa Claus regalia
and opened a broom cupboard,
‘get changed in there.’


a commotion down the corridor;


a Monster Munchy 10 year old
frog-marched to the Head Teacher’s door
pinned down on the ‘naughty sofa.’


‘stop fighting! stop biting! sit still...

‘fat chance of that’

... just wait till your parents get here!’


I belted a cushion around my waist.
put on a rancid Santa uniform
and (two sizes too big) wellingtons.


then hung an itchy cotton wool beard on,
and lo! the transformation was done.


I opened the door and into the corridor


the ‘bad lad’ gasped
his mouth dropped open
he stared wide-eyed
and leapt from the sofa

I feared for
my redundant genitalia.


his arms pincered me
bear-hugging to a point
beyond excruciation.


then he released the death grip,
ran off, kicking doors and shouting


“Father Christmas is here! the real one!”


Tess was not in her class
a bored ‘supply’ shrugged,
‘left at dinner due to an
‘unforeseen domestic situation’.’


bus home for Santa, then.


a note pinned to her door,
‘thanks for today...
and everything.
I’m sure my class will love you.
I’m away for christmas.
leave the key next door.’


I never saw Tessa again.


 

◄ Wholly Holy Holly

Poetry readings - approach with caution - they can turn deadly ►

Comments

Rick

Fri 8th Nov 2019 11:31

Thanks, all - you might enjoy my whiskey fuelled narrative (all true) that I'm about to post. Never mind the quality feel the wet 😃

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Don Matthews

Thu 7th Nov 2019 22:07

I enjoyed this...

😎

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poemagraphic

Thu 7th Nov 2019 20:20

I loved this.

I adore postories poems that tell a story.

well cast (pun intended).

You can always trust the Elder Germanic Futhark

Great last line!

Po

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Tom

Thu 7th Nov 2019 12:31

Well, this kept my interest until the end. Lots of nice touches.

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