Same Old, Same Old Threshold – Hour Five

The coal fire smoke piped like a snake-charmers tune

Between the symmetrical council terraced houses

Out on winter parade

Not allowed to blink or smile at the skittish snowflakes

Tickling their nose

Doorsteps lay burdened

Like a too-late harvest festival alter

Maybe a coal sack

Or an empty glass Alderwicks pop bottle out to get the money back

And then a heap of a child

Home for Christmas from across the miles

Jumping once at the territorial bark of a dog

Then at the sound of a door unlocked by a Nan not seen in oh-so-long,

And nothing’s changed –

Not one single decoration rearranged

On the tree since last year

And the little lantern lights still light the same route

Through the pretend branches and Santa’s boots

And just as it’s time to relax

Nan disappears to the pantry for snacks

And they haven’t changed either –

Still the same cheese and still the same pickle

And things not changing means a lot when you’re little!

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