Kwanzaa

Some friends sent me a calendar
Of America’s mid-west.
The pictures were spectacular,
We really were impressed.

However something puzzled us.
[We ought to ask our friends]
On Stephen’s Day, “Kwanzaa begins”,
On New Year’s Day, it “ends”.

Now what on earth is Kwanzaa?
We haven’t got a clue.
We don’t know how to say it and
We don’t know what to do.

It seems a strange time of the year
To have a celebration,
When you’re utterly lethargic and
Have little motivation.

When you’re drunk and fat and lazy
And you’re feeling far from perky,
When you’re starting to recoil from
The sight of ham and turkey.

When you’re sick to death of chocolates and
There’s nothing on the telly,
When you really should be jogging, but
You cannot move your belly.

When you’re gradually increasing
Your consumption of strong beer,
Building to a crescendo when
You celebrate New Year.

So who on earth decided that
This Kwanzaa should be held
When energy is minimal
And vigour’s been dispelled?

Perhaps it is a festival
To praise the god of sloth?
Or perhaps the god of drunkenness?
Or maybe even both?