When I was a boy
extravagantly was not the way
things were done in our home.
Budgets and belts were tight.
Christmas, we pushed out the boat,
but measuredly:
one box of dates,
one packet of figs,
one bottle each of sherry and port.
As much as could be afforded.
And the lifting smoke of my father’s cigar
was the star prize.
The smoke, he blew it upwards in a ring.
And he sat back with the comfort of a King
Edward.