christmas pigs, or the perils of inviting a poem-writer to lunch

what is it about

christmas and food?

the pig in the pot

of the

wild hills of home,

or the pig on a spit

of the

kiribati islands?

here we are civilised settled, though

and call it ham.

but with good friends

and laughter

(and potatoes on the side)

it is a feast;

and more,

it is christmas.

[thank you menaka, bruce and ashan for a feast fit for a north-easterner!]