UnPoetia:The Night After Christmas

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Latest revision as of 02:22, December 20, 2010

Unpoetia logo Poetry for people who hate poetry
Nightafterchristmas

'Twas the night after Christmas, when all through the house

Was an orgy of presents, worth more than... the house;

The Xbox was stuffed up the chimney with care,

For fear that the repo-man soon would be there;

My mind, it was pondering, while laying in bed,

A vision of bankruptcy danced in my head;

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just barely survived this consumerist trap,

When out in the yard there arose such a clatter,

I fell out of the bed; several ribs did I shatter.


Away to the window I limped like a mule,

Still drunk as a fish, from the tidings of yule.

The moon on the roof of my new minivan,

Gave a lustrous sheen you just can't buy in a can,

When, what to my grog-fuddled eyes should turn up,

But a furniture van, with eight dwarves in the truck,

With a little old driver, so deceitful and slick,

I guessed at that moment, "He's prob'ly named Nick."


Old nick

More rapid than vermin his movers they came,

And he blasphem'd and cussed, as he called them by name;

"Now, Tony and Angelo! Vincent! Emilio!

Go, Raymond! Rosario! And Danny and Guido!

I want half on the front door and half on the side!

We need this crap moved by a quarter to five!"


And then, in a twinkling, I heard from the room

The scraping and prying of objects removed.

As I cradled my head, and was turning around,

Into the foyer Nick came with a bound.

He was dressed all in black, the irreverent weasel,

And he sported some pipes 'bout the size of Vin Diesel;


A bundle of tools he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a shyster, or a lawyer on crack.

His eyes—they were sunken! his dimples unmerry!

His cheeks were like hockey pucks, his nose—frickin' scary!

His tight little mouth was drawn up like a noose,

And the look on his face said "I'll cook your goose.";


The stump of a gun he held firm in his hand,

Left no dangling question 'bout who was the man;

He had a hard face and a prominent belly,

That shook, when he laughed like a bowl of spaghetti.

He was alarmingly grim, a right nasty old elf,

And I whizzed in my boxers, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I that I may turn up dead;


He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And stole all our presents; the contemptuous jerk,

And raising his finger in the mid of his hand,

He asked for my credit cards, and said I was banned;

He sprang to his truck, to his thugs gave an order,

And they made for the hills, like those folks near the border.


But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"Some things may be priceless, but debt just ain't right."


JesseAward
THIS ARTICLE HAS WON A
~~ JESSE AWARD ~~


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