Un Petit Christmas Ditty

Alternative Title :'The Thought-Fox, Revisited by a Drunk Woman'

I sit, fingers poised above keys, shivering in my conservatory freeze
Un petit Christmas ditty, please, would end my struggles, creative pleas
And ploys.
Despite the lack of fuss or noise – the house is quiet of voice and boys
The words just do not want to come.  Unpressed, keys don’t know joy or fun
Don’t make you laugh or make you think or make you feel or make you drink.
Drink. Aha, the very thing.  Perhaps un petit verre de quelque chose
May tease out words, make them flow like harmonies across staves from treble to bass.
(SCRABBLE TO BACK OF DRINKS CUPBOARD, FOLLOWED BY DASH TO CAKE TIN IN KITCHEN, RETURN TO ORTHOPAEDIC COMPUTER CHAIR, CLIMB BACK ON)

I sit, fingers poised above keys, shivering less, crumbs on my knees
Sod the computer, let’s get a pen.  It might work better.  I’ll try again.
Unstraddle heights off computer chair.  Straighten my knees, then prepare
For inspiration - now in ink.  Damn, the taps on in the sink.
Down the hall and turn it off. Whisky and lemon for my cough
Might make me feel more like myself. The honey’s on the highest shelf.
A stool would help.  Put down the glass.  Could be dangerous. Start to laugh.

(SCRABBLE ONCE MORE IN BACK OF DRINKS CUPBOARD, REACH FOR PRINGLES BESIDE THE CEREAL, DECIDE IT’S NOT SAFE ON STOOL SO SIT ON BREAKFAST BAR)

Feel unsteady, where’s my pen? I need it for the, the , the thing again?
What’s it called? A Christmas ditty.  Stupid idea.  Pretty shitty
Thing to get people to do at this time of year when we’re all so witty. Wizzy. Busy.
I canna write and I canna think. I canna rhyme. My pens in the sink
And I’m over here on the breakfast bar. 
And now I hear my husband’s car.
The dog starts barking.  He’s in the door.
( I think I’ll hide down on the floor).
What are you doing Yvonney, he says?
I squint up pleasantly and show him my vest. My lest. My list.

Are you pissed? He gives me his hand.  I show him my list.  He can’t understand
Why the house is upside down, with bottles,Pringles, cake , lemon, honey and biros lying everywhere
 Or why Youtube forlornly performs carols to the empty orthopaedic chair.
Then he gets it.  What a man. 27 years married.  He DOES understand.
It’s the writing group Christmas task. 
What are you trying to write this year Yvonney,      he asks?
by Yvonne Stevenson-Robb

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