In Edward's lived-in kitchen 
The kettle clicked and sighed
As if to say. "I told you so -
Another year let slide"
While Edward, late in middle years,
Less ambitious than his peers
Tired of teaching and the pressure.
Left the job to others, fresher.
Thought of shopping, made the bed
Glancing out in semi-dread
Christmas on your own he'd learned 
Creeps up while your back is turned 

Not that this was his world now.
Even in its speech somehow
 "Coffee? For yourself, at all? "
Waitresses in cafés asked.
Nouns transmuted into verbs 
Jobs were 'actioned' 'trialled' or ' tasked'
A "Product." meant a  mortgage / loan
His district had become 'a  zone'.
And books were Edward's company 
Since he'd been on his own. 

Through the avenues he went
Late-Victorian terraced villas
Bought by boys from Essex, Kent
Quick with rollers, paint and fillers
Spent their money, no regrets
Big-screen football, big-time debts 
Paved front gardens for their cars
Talked of timeshares, Spanish bars
Carved the houses into slices 
Rented at conceited prices 
Starter homes and maisonettes
One room studios buy-to-lets.

Lime-tree sentries looking down
At Edward cycling into town.
Whispered in the empty sky 
Gossiping as he went by:
"Widower. Since Noughty two."
Edward answered softly: " True."
But the wind went witttering on: 
"Daughter. One. Eight years been gone. 
After arguments with mum.
Son, long in Australia.
'Work commitments'. Couldn't come."
Edward musing on these failings
Chained his bike to churchyard railings 

His had been a pretty town 
Once  upon a quieter time
Now, although more affluent
It was marred by petty crime 
Here the gum-spat pavements were
Where on fearful weekend nights
Foul-mouthed gladiatorial lads
Regularly held their fights
Here the ambulances came 
With beleagured police, the same:
Forced to keep respectful distance
With the accent on 'assistance.' 

Edward stopped and gazed about 
Heard the overwhelming sound 
Shopfront speakers belting out 
Metal carols all around
 And the faces of the crowd
Looked distracted, puzzled, stressed
While the spirit of goodwill 
Wandered gaudy, over-dressed 
Meal Solutions Just 4 U
Gifting Schemes 2 Get U Thru
Happy Holidays to all!
Source it. At our Merry Mall
Pigeon pecking at the kerb
Cooed disgusted: " Noun-as-verb!" 

"Gishoo!" called a woman's voice
"Gishoo!" further up the street
" Big Issue!" He observed a figure
In the precinct on a seat.
Cider-apple of complexion
Boots and jeans not quite her size 
As she turned in his direction. 
With her hopeful young-old eyes
Other shoppers hurried by her
Seeing her matted, hennaed hair
Edward, almost from defiance
Slowed his step and halted there
Now he fumbled in his pocket 
Absent-mindedly for change 
Still, she fixed her gaze upon him
Which he found un-nerving, strange
If not threatening, exactly
Rather it was poignant ? sad.
Hesitant, he ventured:  "Sarah? "
Half-subdued, she answered: "Dad " 

In a lunchtime pub they chatted
Father and his wayward daughter
Strangers on their separate bridges
Eight long years across the water. 
She'd  been travelling - India, Thailand
Once, she said, she'd met her brother
In Australia, two years earlier
There, she'd heard about her mother. 
Yes, she'd thought about returning
Broke though, she'd been forced to wait
Time passed. It became an issue.
In the end it got too late.
Edward listened, sighing only:
"Too alike, you and your mum. 
Wouldn't  back down, either of you
Even when the end had come.
Don't suppose... that for a minute, 
 You'd consider coming back?
Just for Christmas?" Then a silence 
Father doing up his mac.
Daughter fiddled with her pack 

Four o'clock - December twilight
Drew the curtains on the day
Sarah went in one direction 
Edward wheeled his bike away 
Noticing along the High Street
Festive lights in short supply
Global-warming jeremiahs 
Pointed sternly at the sky 
Headlines in the evening papers
Added to the seasonal shame 
Christmas, thought the former teacher
These days didn't seem the same 

Worriedly, he mulled it over.
"Dark old times." his back gate creaked
"Don't you bloody start." said Edward
"Lost their way." his front wheel squeaked.
"Wouldn't like to be a youngster 
- Not these days." the bike-shed groaned
"So much wealth, yet so much absent.
Dark indeed." the wind intoned. 

Some days later, in his kitchen 
Candles lit and radio on 
Cheerier for a port and brandy
Weight-of-world-on-shoulders gone.
Oven lit, the scent of spices 
Wrapping paper on the floor 
Settled down to do a crossword.
Came a knocking on the door
Down the chilly hall went Edward
Missing letters in his head
On the doorstep stood a figure
"Best come in." her father said.
 

//////////////////////
The Daily Express Christmas Poem 2006

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