I carried in the coal,

a small meagre amount

from the cold and ancient cobwebbed

behind fireplace

and with it, jumbled together

like a badly worded sentence,

some coins, mainly pennies

for that was all that was left

in a wallet bereft of Christmas joy,

a slice of half and half bread,

the wife’s choice, seeing as

bread makes me sick,

mangled to death,

not fit for the ducks

and some salt, processed and packaged

somewhere in the dusky lands

where midnight was still