Canada Dry, stacks of it, Lemon's glut, piles of crisps.
Early knocks, neighbour calls. New dolls, new blocks, new bikes and all.
In all my years in Lehenaghmore, Santa didn't ever leave a bicycle
with a pump, and, since my father cycled to work, on Christmas morning
he was sought by children on our road and often from further on.
I remember him, one Christmas Eve, checking his were in order
thinking there might be a bike due at the O'Connors'.
He was right, of course. I had confessed:
Thomas had shown me the treasure trove in the back of their hot press.
My parents rented a video player, a week for five pounds.
and before we returned the rentals they had to be rewound.
There were three or four of us then, at least us first three girls
of the six we are in the end, four girls and two boys in all.
The three of us, silent, snuck like ninjas up the hall in the night,
breathless in suspense as we touched the wall as a guide.
Our dad in our path, quickly whirled us right
around and laughed, "Get back to bed, it's still Christmas Eve ."
The magic fish in the crackers took over our dreams.
