A Mordent Christmas, 2002

That was the year the warfugue was huge
and I felt like Scrooge. Bach to the Future!
Peace, peace, peace, whispered the preludes.
the children, the buddhas, the lowly trinity
inhabiting lonely infinity – and only two newspapers
listened. To be direct: What did you expect?
It was a turn of notes and current events
no one dared predict. The President would prevent,
pre-empt, interdict – godnose why and what next.

They’re dreaming of a whiteboy Christmas,
Bingle bells, jingo bells, gracenotes wasted
on an Open Fire. Terrorists wasted… tourists wasted…
Tra la la… Deck Saddam… blows of folly…
Tra la… Sleighbells glisten, Blackhawks hasten…
We wish you a mordant Christmas
and that you listen
with a happy new ear.