Christmas in the 80’s

by MissT

Christmas in the 80’s

Christmas, childhood—toys, delight,
family sagas, sibling fights,
theatrical but always magical,
loud and loving, slightly farcical.
The party piece, the piano show,
cousins beaming, stuffed with Rolos slow.
The turkey carved, the gravy ran,
my gran began her yearly plan:
I may not be here next year, dear
I thought: I can’t. I wouldn’t hear.
Mortality near the mint sauce lay,
polite enough, but there to stay.
Vectra gleaming, roller skates,
BMXs, Raleighs—sealed fates
of speed and scraped-up knees and air,
freedom wrapped with careless care.
Tonka trucks, too tough to fail,
built for mud, not dollhouse scale.
I loved their weight, their blunt design,
no need to soften, dress, or shine.
Barbie came immaculate,
heels too high, a plastic fate.
Her world too clean, her smile fixed
she never stayed the way she’d been.
Hair hacked short, her roles recast,
dragged through dramas unsurpassed.
And Cindy—gentler, softer spun,
less a queen, more second sun.
If Barbie ruled with glossy clout,
Cindy knew what life’s about.
The Girl’s World head—my private crime,
cut to pieces, piece by time.
No regrets, slightly feral, free,
a child rehearsing clearly me.
Penny the dog beneath the table,
sprout thief whenever she was able.
Sneaking greens then letting rip,
smelly farts we couldn’t skip.
We knew the truth, we smelt it too,
but blamed the dog—what else to do?
The car ride home, jaws working hard,
chewing gristly beef—on guard.
My mother laughed, then turned to fear,
as her false teeth fell in Dad’s beer.
A moment paused, then peals of sound—
Christmas cheer all sloshed around.
The eighties were the best, I fear,
the nineties, noughties don’t come near.
Tinsel and decks hung from the ceiling,
made our house feel warm, appealing.
I miss those days—I really do,
the chaos, joy, the Christmas glue.
But time moves on, as time must do
at fifty-five, I spend it on the loo!!