Quite simply, Merry Christmas. Wrote a little piece just now, and at risk of ruining my reputation as a bitter and angry drunk, I’m sending it out to anyone who has somebody missing this Christmas, whatever the reason or the permanence. I am at home, and stupidly content, and it feels like Christmas for the first time in a number of years. I hope you’re all gathered with people who you want to see, and are loving both the present and the absent just as hard as you can. Because everybody’s missing somebody, even if they don’t know it yet. To tie in The Thin Red Line: “If I never meet you in this life, let me feel the lack.”
Brother – you’re a long way off, tonight.
Just like all those other nights with
half a continent or half a hemisphere between us.
And of course you can’t hear this,
but it’s the same as what you’ve heard
on every other night like this when I never wrote a word.
And we both know the absurdity.
A man I’d tackle shellfire for
who I see less than my bus conductor.
Thing is, dog-dragged from the house, I can see
we’re like those stars between the railway pylons.
They may be distant, but,
whether it’s cloudy
or six feet of dirt obscuring the view
you know they’re always out there,
one thought away from you.