The Christmas Stag

by | Dec 3, 2007 | Poetry | 0 comments

It’s Christmas Eve and I’m on guard
I’ve got the graveyard stag.
I’m prowling ‘round the QM’s store,
Best place to have a fag.

The pads are all tucked up at home.
What am I doing here?
One consolation that I’ve got,
I’m joining them next year.

And now I’m near the Corporals’ club.
Oh! Hear their festive chat.
There’s that acting, unpaid, RP,
In silly paper hat.

From the backdoor of the cookhouse
I spy the duty cook
He brings me out a tot of rum
Now there’s a stroke of luck.

Then on I prowl, along my beat,
Up by the barrack block.
Where the sound of ribald ballads
Drowns out my furtive knock.

But then the window creaks ajar
And someone’s friendly hands,
Thrust out to me, through open frame
Two welcome Amstel cans.

And then ten yards ahead of me
I saw the Duty Dog
With the Colonel’s only daughter
Romancing on a log.

He stuttered as he saw me there.
“This isn’t what you think,
And anyway it’s Christmas Day.”
Then offered me a drink!

So now my stag was nearly done
My brain began to think
Would the Sergeant guard commander
Detect the smell of drink?

And as I climbed the guardroom steps
I heard him call to me
“ Come on inside, tha’ must be parched,
I’ve rum and tea fo’ thee.”


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