‘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,
Blown through partially-fit 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 hear a voice say,
“Who left out this fucking ladder?!?”
Then into my living room Santa Claus came,
Limping somewhat, a bend in his frame.
He dropped his red 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 stepped over my tools
And made for the door,
Muttering words under his breath
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!”
