Three Christmas Cards

I

Lying there, armina, a railing rib cage
Unable to suffer her shallow death breaths,
Would ask you for help
If she could look you in the eye;
Framed in plasma
she survives the 30 seconds
Sandwiched in the break between Man versus Food
Vomited from the Land where Plenty is simply
A metaphor for Customary

II

In November one year
A famous Doctor railed at those
Who watch without charity
At those imperilled souls
With the audacity to spend
Their usual friday night in
Immersed in the spiritual side of this nation;
Indulging, by proxy, at the sight of the
Huge cheques presented by people just like them
For people just like them
Impersonal vital pieces of paper
Unlike the noughts on the Doctor’s contract

III

A Celebrity pronounced ‘god is dead’;
Once an impoverished believer, now unable to reconcile
A caring creator and the examples He
Sees on TV
The homeless, the starving, the ill, the dying
This Cornerstone of the nation’s favourite Aunt
A Cornerstone of wheat and grain; of water and pulse

For his sake I hope he’s right