Season of crap and mellow fruitfulness,
Stores laden with the useless and the banal,
Gaudily packaged nothingness in endless gondolas,
Mule trains of garbage in the retail canal.
Oh for a glass of Yuleade, fresh and gaseous, from the racks of giftery,
Perfumed detergents and sponges shaped into false effigies of love.
Bubble baths, coloured crystals, cleansing loofahs,
Stack upon stack from the corporations up above.
The gentle bleeping of till bells heralds the Yuletide,
Credit cards swipe in ecstasies of joy,
Cardboard effigies of televisual ghosts line counter after counter,
Somnambulists seeking the latest desirable toy.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
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