I’m premier-rate around Christmas.

People need me most

when theirs are chapped and sore.

At office-parties

I twinkle my rings, tickle

the boss’s chin.

On Christmas Eve

I model presents: mittens

or golfing gloves for a wife.

Christmas Day, it’s cashmere,

kidskin, before they nestle

in tissue or gaudy crackle.

I may peel a satsuma,

light a candle

before the limo arrives

and I pull on

elbow-length chinchilla, prepare

for the full strip with champagne.

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