'THE GIFT THEY DIDN'T WANT': a Christmas poem by The Mowdog...

It was 1962-63 I reckon. I had never bought my parents a Christmas present with my own meagre savings before. I was around 12 years old. In Aston Cross, Birmingham, walking from bus-stop to school, I had spotted a bunch of six liqueur-type glasses on a bridge-like holding frame. It appealed to me. I saved up to buy it. I was desperate for my parents to open the present on Christmas morning. 

My dad liked a tot of whiskey at Christmas, whereas my mum drank alcohol not at all.

I hadn’t thought of that…

The Gift They Didn’t Want

The candle bridge brought out each December

Sends a shiver through me

Without fail;

It nestles amongst fake pine greenery

Across a shelf, above the fire.

And I remember. I remember

A distressing Christmas tale.

The glass bridge bought early one December,

Early 1960s, pleased me,

Without doubt;

It nestled in a china cabinet, permanently,

On a shelf, beneath a plate.

And I remembered. I remembered

What failure was about.

Spied in a fancy goods store

Near the brewery at old Aston Cross,

It attracted my attention

In a chaotic window display

Amongst other cheap and nasty dross.

I saved some shillings and heavy pence,

I checked that it was still there each day

But I told no-one of my intention…

It was cheap. I know that now.

The ‘gold’ on the bridge soon flaked.

But I had wrapped it with care, 

For my parents’ acceptance I ached…

Their faces, however, said it all, I know that now:

Mild frowns, occasional nods and incomprehension.

I was unable to speak. I felt deflated,

The gift treated with some reprehension…

It was given away, many years ago

But the hurt remained deep inside;

An idea, a thought, an acquisition,

Which would too easily be cast aside… 

Pete Ray

16 December, 2015