Fairy Lights

I sit once again on the first day of January
Staring at new books, perfume
CD's I never asked for
Piled near the chipped Moroccan book stand
In the grate a flame licks out blue
All alone

The Christmas tree is dying from neglect
Needles brittle and fallen
A faded memory of yesterday
Clinging hopelessly to the fake snow baubles
Joy has burst
With the popping fuse of the fairy lights

"Its time" I say. With a sunken smile
On new slippers I tread the attic ladders
Labelled "Christmas" I see the box
I stuff it with threadbare tinsel and ribbon
A Christmas tree born from magazines
Now, robbed cruelly of borrowed jewels

I drag this sad corpse
Hearing the branches crack on the door step
Into the waiting arms of a New Year
I leave it near the axe