Something has attacked the Christmas decorations.
The nativity llama has suffered a trauma.
Its embroidered backpacks, full of pretend llama love and presents
are shredded. Red and blue cross-stitching unpicked.
Its Peruvian belly gapes, fibrous entrails spill like fake snow
and settle on bilious silver baubles below.
The assault bears a passing resemblance
to something I might have planned, alone, on cold nights.
But never intended for this lamentable woollen animal.
My yule-time wish has mis-fired.
The mutilated llama, one ear missing, one eye hanging by a thread,
has taken a hit intended elsewhere.
It doesn’t matter. I have all the decorations, more than enough.
Like the kitchen implements, he had no need for his half.
Sorting, I discard the agnostic angel. The defunct Fairy
has not once granted me a wish and has been mistress
of the spruce for too many years, at least five.
I decide to promote the sacrificial llama to the top of the tree.
For a gift of even half a Christmas wish is better than no gift at all.
Ginny Saunders originally trained as a scientist and is a recent convert to the joys of writing poetry. She has an MA in creative writing from Bath Spa university and, while her drafted novel incubates in a drawer, took the opportunity to explore some shorter forms of writing. She recently joined the newly formed Trowbridge Stanza group and attended modern poetry classes run by Josephine Corcoran.