Turkey Shoot

I was gutted just before Christmas,

And my fir stripped of stars and balloons;

My cavity, thin as an isthmus,

Was stuffed with old chestnuts and prunes.

They turned up the heat. I tasted

Self-basted.

My wings were clipped. So was my wattle.

And Santa's sleigh lost my address:

It passed - like my neck - at full throttle.

My wishbone was fractured by stress.

I waited by crib and by manger,

A stranger.

My pantomine dame was ungirdled,

And left me offstage as her stooge.

Rue Mortgage. My gravy was curdled.

My partners were Marley and Scrooge.

No lemon, no zest. I was rind,

Resigned.

This article first appeared in the 01 January 1999 issue of the New Statesman, An earthquake strikes new Labour