On the twelfth day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:

Twelve racks of suits.
Eleven Hammond Organs.
Ten lagers with croutons.
Nine diesel decks.
Eight lifeless moons.
Seven cat naps.
Six specs of grit.
Five red hot curries.
Four gazpacho soups.
Three spare heads.
Two pleasure GELF’s.
and a life pod with an alien.

By Roger Vincent
Author of “Apostrophe to Zenith”