Boxing Day Blues
My dad got on his bicycle to ride to Spondon village,
to say Happy Christmas to his dear old mum.
He rode across the fields and by the River Derwent,
it was a frosty morning, but bright in the sun.
He left the riverside and climbed up by the bridge
onto the carriageway and along the cycle path.
At the railway crossing he cut off down the lane,
by the scrap dealers and an old tin bath.
Across the level crossing by the side of the station
over the canal bridge and pass the Moon Hotel.
Onward towards Lodge Lane and his next turn right
where he hit the pavement and very nearly fell.
Number two Willowcroft Road was his destination,
he wasn’t expected, so his mum would be surprised.
Catching his breath for a second at the open back door,
his mother said, “Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Happy Christmas mum, ” he said as he kissed her cheek.
“Happy Christmas George, I’ll make a fresh pot of tea.”
As they sat chatting, his brothers came through the door,
“Happy Christmas George, ” said Frank, Jim and Alfie.
“George, have you got time to come for a drink?
We’re going for a bevy down the Moon.
We’ll also have a laugh and a few hands of cards,
and generally enjoy the afternoon.”
He said he had and kissed his mum goodbye,
and off they walked down to the Moon.
They were pleased and happy to be together again
and arrived at the pub exactly at noon.
Now my dad was by no means a drinking man
and one Milk Stout was all he would drink,
but when The Moon closed that afternoon,
he had more than one too many I think.
Happily, he said goodbye to his brothers,
as he mounted his bicycle to ride home.
His balance was decidedly questionable
and more so when he rode over a stone.
As he cycled his stomach began churning
and his head began to spin inside.
By the riverside he fell off his bicycle
and vomited on the grass where he lied.
He managed to straighten the seat and handlebars,
and remounted his bicycle once again,
but twice more he fell off his two wheeled steed
before his front wheel got stuck in a drain.
For safety sake he pushed his bicycle along Taylor Street
and down the entry by the side of the house.
With the utmost care he placed his bicycle in the shed
whilst trying to be as quiet as a mouse.
But this mouse was unusually incredibly noisy,
as mum opened and looked out of the door.
“George, have you been drinking with your brothers? ”
“Yes dear, but I’m not going to any more.”
He then said that he didn’t want his dinner,
and fell asleep whilst watching TV.
When he awoke from his snoring slumber
he realised he hadn’t got his false teeth.
He asked my mum if she had seen them,
and she told him that she had not.
Maybe he had put them in his pocket,
or put them somewhere he’d forgot.
A horrible sense of panic came over him,
maybe they came out when he was sick?
He decided to check, so mounted his bicycle
after giving it a hefty kick.
When he arrived where he had vomited,
the sick has soaked into the ground,
and there lying on the grass were his teeth
smiling, as though glad to be found.
poem by Orlando Belo
Added by Poetry Lover
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