#2: Christmas Eve

In 2184,
a strange, rumpled figure forces himself
down the last remaining chimney
a gunnysack of novelties
bulging obscenely against his red back.

His beard has flecks of egg in it;
the corner of his mouth surges
with a cataract of white foam.
He hums a sour sort of requiem
while inserting himself.

Below, a family sit round the crackling fire
in jumpers, or
whatever passes for jumpers these days.
Space jumpers, probably.
A crash, a whumph
of cinders

then the hearth burns more brightly
than ever.