December is the season of parties, and most notably, the office Christmas party. The speaker of today’s poem can’t quite remember enjoying the party; but definitely feels the effects of all the ‘brandy’ consumed…
Enjoy your Christmas party!
I think I enjoyed the party.
I cannot remember it well.
My stomach is churning in circles
And my poor head is hurting like hell.
I think I enjoyed the buffet,
But the crab paste was long past its best.
The quiche was awash with heaven knows what
The salad was limp and depressed.
The cheese cubes on sticks were all crusted,
The vol-au-vents soggy and stale,
The trifle was dusted with fag ash
And smelt less of sherry than ale
I think I enjoyed the fruit cup,
And a glass of the manager’s wine.
The gin and the Scotch and the vodka
All left me feeling just fine.
The problems began with the brandy –
One sip of it went to my head.
I remember removing my stockings,
And then…oh, I wish I was dead.
I seem to remember the records.
They played all my favourite sounds,
I started the conga to ‘Nights in White Satin’
And cha-cha-d to ‘Send in the Clowns’
Then somebody danced on the table
And sat on the manager’s knee,
And did something crude with the manager’s hat,
And – oh glory, I think it was me.
My memory’s starting to focus.
I remember the manager’s face
When I told him I hated the work and the staff
And just what he could do with the place.
I think I enjoyed the party –
One over the eight is no crime,
But reviewing last night in the cold light of day,
I think I had better resign.