Last Christmas
Your father did his impression
Of a Chinese person
Your mother wore a see-through dress
And served up salad
Made of grated carrot and sultanas
Your brother gave us tickets
To the monster trucks
Then his allergic children
Who were high on cordial
Knocked a bottle of red wine
Into my lap
Everybody laughed and said:
‘What are you going to do, Adrian?’
‘Go and write a poem about it?’