A thought provoking poem for Christmas Grandpa ’ s Chair by Brian Bilston. Suggested by Ruth McRobb …
The chair by the fire is empty - the one where Grandpa used to sit. “ I like to roast my chestnuts ” he ’ d say, After lunch, he ’ d have a kip, having polished off a pint or two and the remainder of the sprouts. He ’ d sit there, in his favourite chair, with his belly hanging out, snoring.
We ’ d laugh and he ’ d wake up and wonder about all the fuss. One medicinal sherry later, Grandpa would suggest charades: he ’ d jump up, go through his repertoire of actions, throwing himself into every mime, He ’ d settle down again after that, just sit there, that twinkle in his eye. But this year, the chair is empty, the one where Grandpa used to sit, and it ’ s like Christmas isn ’ t really Christmas but some tawdry imitation of it. Grandpa would have loved it, though. There was still Laughter. And Beer. And Games. But if he must go windsurfing in the Bahamas, he ’ s only got himself to blame!
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