Spare me the platitudes, false smiles and Christmas cheer
Naive to think shit won’t be as cold and deep next year.
2018, unlikely that you’ll lose those extra pounds
Like every year, you’ll yo-yo up and yo-yo down.
By Christmas next you’ll still be slamming down the nuggets.
Three-hundred then, but now three hundred and–oh, fuck it.
And those fiends at work, honing their knives,
Wishing you Merry Christmas — Happy New Year — other fiendish lies.
The silver lining to this cloud, is that it’s only annually
You get stuck in one room with your extended family
Like ‘roos caught in your headlights, at any other time of year
You’d show faith in your bullbar, and shift-up a gear.
Erik Kaisson, 2017