Christmas kisses, a poem by Anne Casey

We never had it
It was something you saw in the movies
old ones re-running on TV
that handsome couples
teasingly kissed under

Chaste tristes in black and white
like the pure white
berries of the mistletoe
But perhaps a bit waxen
Somewhat wooden

I remember my father laughingly
kissing my mother once
under a holly sprig
It seems more apt
So much more like love

with its pricks
and bright red shiny beads