THE CHRISTMAS CARD
— by Laura Wood
TWO became three, then four and five.
What joy, every year, they all seemed so alive
On a holly-decked card that came in the mail.
Five Christmas grins were proof without fail,
That all was well with the Stumper-McLeans,
Despite hidden tensions and financial strains.
The babies in time became soccer players,
Riders of bikes and violin slayers.
The family grew taller and the cards still came.
The haircuts grew crooked, but who was to blame?
The year Sammy got rough and punched Dad in the nose,
Judging from appearances, he could still smell a rose.
They blamed adolescence and the obsolescence of Dad.
From the card, we deduced, things weren’t that bad.
But then one year the mailbox was one card more empty.
Perhaps they were sick or the mailperson was peremptory.
But that was the year Alexander became Mary.
And no picture could hide that his chin was less hairy.
No smiles could hide the parental desolation.
Two shattered hearts on a card would be no consolation.
