Twas the day after Christmas

Twas the day after Christmas,
and all round the house,
lay sleepy children as quiet as a mouse.
The table top covered,
in tools and batteries,
as I try to make the pound shop things,
work as they should be.
The women out shopping,
What on earth is that about?
The men sitting round chatting,
about the women who are out.
Twas the day after Christmas
just 364 days to go,
until the house is again covered
in children’s fake snow.