A son is home for Christmas

He came down for Christmas
eagerly awaited by both, dumb
to each other for years but resounding
for him, their very own City boy.
They swaddled him in praise, cuddled
his ego, him, love-befuddled,
mollycoddled for days, stuffed with food,
cream cakes, an oily fish dish, goose and turkey
with added dollops of home made cranberry sauce.
He gave them cause for joy: their home coming
boy, an ally against each other, his silent father,
his emotional mother. Dad watched with him
Tolkien movies, Top Gear, The Simpsons,
whereas Mum took him for a walk in the park,
around a lake. "For heavens sake, talk
about your feelings, and do you still smoke
dope? How often and how much? Will
your brain cope? In fact you might be left
brain damaged. The danger is such... His dad
managed to stay out of it. In a way, it left him cold.
Cold turkey they ate for the rest of the week.
a leek casserole, broccoli, mashed potatoes.
His mum made a weak soup out of the rest.
The best was the trifle afterwards. And playing cards
and board games until their boy had won everything:
the two towers, the queen, in the end the king.
"Check mate he said to his dad and went to bed.