The Defence of Scrooge Now wildness has necessity to come and have its say. Graced, I asked for providence to intervene its way. I’ve lived in tailored clothing, the finest satine silk. And cafe meets with almond crepes and honey flavoured milk. Important work, with things to do and people to be seen. Deadlines to accomplish, my In-Box to keep clean. Stocks to judge and bottom-lines and pay to usher out. Smiles of grateful workers, “Hurrah!”, as one they shout. Lorry’d docks, preparing goods for customers afar. Signing my approval, I rolled by in car. My chauffeur said, “It’s getting late, let’s get you home and warm. There’s no sense musing pressures with the coming, vicious, storm.” Oh, hindsight hath a way with words; and irony with sight. A thousand times I would re-do that unassuming night. “No, let’s go back.”, I said to him, “I’m worried for the staff.” His face went white, his knuckles too. I didn’t know the half. “No, please, kind sir,”, entreated he, “let’s hurry like the wind.” “No, no,”, I said, “I cannot rest. Return! I must go in.” Resign-ed sigh, deflated moves, he spun the wheels, return. Resolve did douse his fiery thoughts, but didn’t ease the burn. His head moved not, but shook somehow; his shoulders gave away, “I’ll bring you back to do some things, but surely, do not stay.” “…but surely, do not stay.”, he said. I hadn’t heeded he. And I was ever changed for that what I was nigh to see. Because we took the front way in, the staff were not aware. And neither did I know, right then, what really went on there. Though wafts of chuckled laughter, made way though office walls, dismissing waves of chauffeur’s hand, repeated dampened stalls. Eventually, dismissed no more, I had to see myself. With eyes, he he gave away his fear, my key-ring on the shelf. Now bravery is not a word, nor rash, describes my brand. So crept, did I, to key-hole small, an peered to understand. What worried he, to give his face, such palour, shaded green? I was now to witness what I wish I’d never seen. … Since that day I’ve vowed to pinch and squirrel my all away. Those ingrate louts, ungrateful hacks, their wills I will now sway. “Scrooge!”, they sang with raucous laugh and poet’s licence free. Thankless of their wages, laid on their desks by me. “Scrooge!”, the sang, and “Happy Days!”, and “Welcome for some Cheer!” I will show them, proper, not an eye without a tear! © Sean G. O’Leary Dec. 2022
