‘Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through the house,
The drywall dust settled,
Smothering a mouse.
The stockings swung gently
In the living room breeze,
Blowing through ill-fitting windows,
Making everyone freeze.
One wall freshly painted,
The others, not so much,
The furniture shoved back
To the brown china hutch.
The tree trimming finished,
I lifted my beer,
When suddenly a great clatter
Entered my ear.
I stood quiet and still,
To see what was the matter,
When I heard a voice say
“Who didn’t move this f***ing ladder?!”
Then into my living room Santa Claus came,
Limping somewhat, a bend in his frame.
He dropped his toy sack and shot me a glare,
Clearly not happy with what he saw there.
“My good sir”, he said,
“I see what you’re doing.
But on Christmas Eve? Really sir,
What were you thinking?”
He opened his sack and began to place toys
Under my tree for our girls and our boys.
Finished, he stretched, and grimaced in pain
“I trust I won’t trip over your ladder again?”
He walked round my tools
Clearly headed for the door,
I thought best to ignore.
“Would you please pass me my cookies?”
He said with a bow.
“There’s so much stuff in my way
I’m afraid to move now.”
I passed him the cookies,
Which he stuck in his pocket,
Then, still scowling, he went out the door
Like a rocket.
As a parting shot he said, “Buddy,
Better put down that cup,
And clean up that mess
Before your dear wife wakes up!”