Hungry are the hearts of men.
The archytype of hunger, architect of greed
champion of the fortune feast, when many have the least
to give, to credit driven, to financial servitude bidden
behind that empty laughter’s hidden
world’s of suffering, eons of grief
for which this consumer-god offers no relief.
See the idol of winter greed
see his straining belt
see his belly bulge with all the cheap lies dealt
see his coat of arterial hue concealing greed-grown bulk
see every skint bloke’s enemy, every poor child’s sulk.
a homeless man’s warm bed
show me real kindness, with some real risk instead
pass on something treasured
something valued, something made
with love and lots of effort, not something for which you paid
give goodness out this year, aspire to something grander
than feeding the consumer-god, known otherwise as Santa.