MRS SCROOGE.

Scrooge doornail-dead, his widow, Mrs Scrooge, lived by herself

in London Town. It was that time of year, the clocks long back,

when shops were window-dressed with unsold tinsel, trinkets, toys,

trivial pursuits, with sequinned dresses and designer suits,

with chocolates, glacé fruits and marzipan, with Barbie,

Action Man, with bubblebath and aftershave and showergel;

the words Noel and Season's Greetings brightly mute

in neon lights. The city bells had only just chimed three,

but it was dusk already. It had not been light all day.

Mrs Scrooge sat googling at her desk,

Catchit the cat

curled at her feet; snowflakes tumbling to the ground

below the window, where a robin perched,

pecking at seeds. Most turkeys,

bred for their meat, are kept in windowless barns,

with some containing over 20,000 birds. Turkeys

are removed from their crates and hung from shackles

by their legs in moving lines. A small fire crackled

in the grate. Their heads are dragged under

a water bath - electrically charged - before their necks

are cut. Mrs Scrooge pressed Print.

She planned

to visit Marley's Supermarket (Biggest Bargain Birds!) at four.

- By Carol Ann Duffy with illustrations by Posy Simmonds (2008)

Not usually a big fan of Carol Ann Duffy, I love this poem which can be read in its entirety by clicking HERE.