A great number of things fuck me off

There are too many to mention

I wish ill to all of them

Especially when I am feverish as I am now

Yet one is outstanding above the rest

That is the abuse of Christmas Cacti

Look at it this way my friends

You are a happy cactus

Minding your own business

Living a solitary yet plain life

But you are happy and that is important

Even if you are ignorant of happiness

Then a person speaking in a foreign tongue

Picks you up and covers you with dream topping

Or something aligned with dream topping

But less tasty and thicker in texture and smell

Glitter is then dribbled over you like acid snow

The final insult is a plastic message red white and gold

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

You are then transported to an any town

To sit on the androgynous white shelves

Where you watch the detritus of the world in habitat

Even though fierce in appearance cactuses have feelings

And experience their own mortality in frequent dreams

Later much later they are found in bargain boxes

A few pence each still clothed in their festering shrouds

They are almost dead invisible in these awful bins

I would in an instant turn over these tables

But today I am endorsed with fever

Which prevents display

Bur the rage still gleams

And will return quite soon