Dear Hive friends, Merry Messy Christmas, love from the Stick Up Boys

Cheesus Christ Not a Cheese Board

Father leaned forward while loosening his belt
"It's time to carve" he muttered to himself,
his fat little children chittered with glee
his wife full of wine tussled the roastees

the sprouts and carrots glistened with butter
and the baby gurgled and farted a sputter
the turkey now carved they descended like jackals
knives jousting with forks in a terrible battle

plates were heaped high, gravy flowed like a stream
over spuds, veg and stuffing, and like a well-oiled machine
all food was portioned - even the baby's was mashed
and it gurgled in joy displaying a gravy mustache.

They shovelled and chomped in a riotous display,
parsnips, cabbage, sprouts... nothing got away,
when finally dishes lay empty after this gluttonous flood
mum beckoned for silence, "now for the Christmas Pud."

And away to the kitchen she flew nibble and quick,
so fleet of feet, like a wine sozzled Saint Nick,
she emerged with a vat of custard and pudding aflame
as father clapped and nodded a hearty acclaim,

"Look what your mum has made" he gesticulated,
the kids started clapping and the baby hesitated
at this flaming pudding eyes wide with wonder
he cast bowl joyously aloft to shatter asunder

father guffawed and laughed in spite of himself,
mum glowered "you clean that up then you fat little elf?"
He heaved back his chair and sucking in his belly
but as he bent at wobbled like a bowl full of jelly.

The whole family laughed as mother doled out the Pud,
and the baby sniffled until tears flowed in a flood
"none for you my darling" mother joked
and retrieved a plastic bowl as the baby moped
staring at his spoon like the world had exploded,
mother dropped him a bowl of Pud fully loaded.

The feast slowed as the corners were filled
of bulging bellies and intestines strong-willed,
a silence descended as sweat beaded their brows,
until father piped up "it's time for the cheese board now."