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