Melancholics Anonymous

[Keith]

Christmas has gone back in its box,
locked away with a sigh of relief,
debriefed by the wife over till receipts,
repeats of last years must have deals,
reveals the drudgery of new year sales,
scales that count in cream and pies,
lies that the naked truth will mock,
coughing fits and sore to touch glands,
handed a duster to greet Mr Sheene,
clean every cupboard beyond the mundane,
again I provide a pack horses back,
acknowledge my duty to carry bags,
agree she should buy that sequined frock,
socks so cheap they've stained my feet,
thank god I'm only off work for a week.