Sunk deep in
Faded brown armchair
He slumps
Head back, hips slightly forward
Belly pointing up at
Much loved photograph
A foot above the telly.
His best jeans
Snug, unbuttoned
Belt hanging open
Christmas jumper riding up
Exposing
Smooth, rounded, pink
Taut line of flesh.
Both hands
Palm down
Rest gently, one either side
Of the swollen belly
Gingerly touching
As warm toes
Wriggle out of backless slippers.
The tell-tale smudge
Of lamb gravy
Sits just below
The neck-line.
And on his knees
The neatly opened
Silver foil wrapper
And cracked remains
Of the chocolate.
