[George Simmers]

When it's become too late to do without,
Jo lights one eco-bulb, and slow, so slow,
It stirs itself to spread a moderate glow,
Not quite enough to read by. None could doubt
She was a thinking, caring woman, Jo.
But now her mouth forms in a bitter pout,
Her nostrils tighten and her keen eyes harden.
For what she sees is Dave-next-door's front garden.

Five hundred Christmas lights are rioting there:
They dance around the lawn, they flash in trees,
And snowmen glow. Such prodigalities
Fill Jo with anger verging on despair.
Says Dave: “Oh dear, I bought the lights to please
The kids. What's that? They warm the winter air?
Not much, you know.” He laughs: “But who'd have fancied
A few bright lights could turn a nice girl rancid?”