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Here I sit on this Christmas Eve absorbing the joys of our room

I smile at the glistening tree, place down my mulled wine and take out her favourite perfume

She’s an angel to me and her smell is so sweet yet just one thing that I love so dearly

And the bottle I’ve bought is the biggest I could find to reflect my love so clearly

She’s taking a shower so I have time to wrap her gift as the stairs separate our existence

Now I take out the ribbon, such a rare and beautiful shade, I’m rewarded for my persistence

The ribbon’s too long but that shade of red screams out ‘I love you my darling at Christmas’

I trim the length carefully knowing the red ribbon is precisely fit for its purpose

I’m watching The Holiday, well it’s on the TV, I’m too captivated in my careful wrapping

Then suddenly a twinkling sound drowns out Cameron and Jude and I notice her phone vibrating

I retrieve the phone and become puzzled and disturbed as I don’t recognise the number or name

I answer but don’t speak and allow the unfamiliar voice to pour out his painful refrain

‘Hi honey, it’s arranged, this will be the best Christmas as we begin together our new life’

I hang up the line, my heart sinks like a stone, I can’t believe this of my beautiful wife

Dejected I look down and notice the ribbon which seems to be snaking towards me

A switch flicks in my brain while anger consumes me and stops me from acting rationally

I walk up the stairs, red ribbon in hand and head towards the sound of flowing water

My fears are confirmed as I spot the swollen suitcase and get an urge to slaughter

Amongst the smell of fresh musk, I enter like a ghost and hear her sing Last Christmas by Wham!

The steam begins to clear as I open the shower door and use the ribbon to end this sham

I move so swiftly as I pull the ribbon tight and her beautiful and naked form slides down soapy glass

And her final breath escapes as her betraying eyes stare, I’ve ensured this Christmas is her last

I take the ribbon once more and its silky touch inspires me to fulfil my act of revenge

I manoeuvre the ribbon to a position of irony and laugh at the message it will send

I return downstairs amidst the presents and cards and lift up my dead wife’s phone

I send a text to her lover, pretending to be her – ‘My darling, your present is waiting – tied in a big red bow.’

© Martin Tracey 2016.

 

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