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Twas the Night before Thanksgiving


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'Twas the night before Thanksgiving, when all through the house,

not a creature was happy and I was starting to grouse.
The icicle lights were hung on the eaves with care,
in hopes that Thanksgiving soon would be there.


The children were engrossed texting on their smart phones,
restraining desires to strike dad with some very hard stones.
And Mama with her laptop, and I in my chair,
had just settled in for another night of despair.


When out of my respite I sprang with a clatter,
leaving the family to wonder what the hell was the matter.
Away to the garage I flew like a flash,
tore open the overhead door, and tripped over the trash.


The winds of November were starting to blow,
and gave the lustre of frozen tundra to objects below,
when, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but an unfinished Christmas display too damn late in the year.


With a little old yard and a foundation of brick,
I knew in a moment I could pull off this whole house-lighting trick.
More rapid than eagles, the coursers I came,
and I cussed and shouted and called them by name:

"Hey Kris! Hey Matt!
Hey, Caity and David!
Hey, Jay! Hey, Jason!
To the lights we must hasten!
To the top of the roof!
To the top of the wall!
Now climb away! Climb away!
Climb away all!" 


And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the ladder
the bitching and moaning that just made me sadder.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
I heard the sound of an injury hitting ground. 


I was dressed all in sweats, from my head to my foot,
and I knew the whole project was about to kaput.
A bundle of lights I had tangled on the small of my back,
made me look like a plumber exposing his crack.


My eyes--how they raged! My nostrils did flare!
My butt cheeks were frozen, and I’m still losing more hair!
My droll little mouth was drawn up with a sneer
and I knew right then that I needed a beer.
The stump of a zip-tie I held tight in my teeth,
was soon to be used for the hanging of a wreath.
I have a broad face and a little round belly,
that shakes when I cry, like a bowl full of jelly.


I’m chubby and plump, in truth a right fat old elf,
and I avoid all mirrors because of myself.
But a wink of my eye and a twist of my head
soon let everyone know it was still a night to dread.


I spoke not another word, but went straight to my work,
and strung all of the lights, while remaining a jerk.
After laying leads cords through the yard like a hose,
the family headed inside before they all froze.


I sprang to my computer, to the keys I did bristle,
If these damn lights don’t work, I’m buying a missile.
But I was heard to exclaim, as the show came to height,

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all good lights!"

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