Sunday, December 17, 2017

Santa Lives In My Neighborhood

‘Twas the week before Christmas, when all thro’ the house,
Something is chewing, maybe a mouse;
Stumble down the hallway, the morning break is took,
Heating the coffee, out the window he looks;
The parking lot is empty, where did they go?
‘Twas the week before Christmas, so he thinks that he knows;
Yawning and scratching, should he take another nap,
While all the neighbors, are out buying that crap;
When out on the yard, there arose such a clatter,
Time to roll out, don’t worry about your bladder;
Climbing aboard his pony, he flew like a flash,
To the Tummy Temple he rode, to spend all his cash;
‘Twas the week before Christmas, so that everybody knows,
‘Twas to buy needless stuff, and spend all your dough;
When what to wondering eyes should appear,
But a women in a fur coat, asking the butcher for rein-deer;
‘Twas the week before Christmas, and what would you do,
To celebrate this time of year, and enjoy the wazoo;
Flying the skies for adventure, JD and his main squeeze,
Are celebrating the season, drinking wine, eating pasta and cheese;
‘Twas the week before Christmas, and the pace it quickens,
Glazed faces wander the aisles, gathering all the fixings;
There was a time, when one quick trip to the mall!
Would pack up the car, and that would be all;
‘Twas the week before Christmas, and as much as we try,
Cannot resist online shopping, waiting drones in the sky;
Office parties will be different, all the mischievous news,
Don’t drink, keep hands in your pockets and your eyes on your shoes;
Will the latest surprise, be a new phone,
Unless you place a call or a text or a tweet, and no one’s at home;
Our consumption for material worth, will abound,
To be stacked in basements and attics and in closets until found;
Then shipped off to junk yards, thrift stores, the homeless downtown,
or sent to the dump graveyard to be covered in ground;
‘Twas the week before Christmas, every year it comes back,
To cause stress and remorse, and a pain in the back;
The fat boy is happy, this time of the year,
Repetitive music, grape with a bowl full of cheer;
‘Twas the week before Christmas, and what should he do,
No lights or big plans, not even a clue;
There are no big passions and wants, or even a beef,
No tree or decorations, or toys or a wreath;
‘Twas the week before Christmas, and Santa lives here,
Just watching some football, and drinking a beer;
11 months of the year, he does not fit in,
Not styled like a yuppie, which must be a sin;
A hobo, a vagrant, part of the deadheads,
He’s sure his furry neighbors, are all well fed;
His routine is a ritual, his habits routine,
Quiet unobtrusive, but one calls him mean;
Most smile when they see him, as he rides by,
Some of even wave, and some just say “Hi!”
‘Twas the week before Christmas, and the children will stare,
They better be nice, cause ole Nicolas is there;
For that is the reason, for the children’s delight,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

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