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The day after ...

  • Thursday, December 26, 2013



Clement Clarke Moore wrote the poem “Twas the Night Before Christmas” in 1822. With Christmas morning in your rearview mirror, here’s my version. A “What If” take, such as What if Santa left one kid in all the world nothing but clothes under the Christmas tree on Christmas morning and this event was then memorialized in a poem?

Here goes . . .

Twas the day after Christmas and all through the house.

I’m beginning to think this Santa’s a louse.

The stockings were scattered and torn, gifts thrown everywhere.

And me with my presents of dress socks, a plaid sweater and new underwear.

We kids were all amped up on the Dew and too much candy

And everyone but me thought Christmas was just dandy . . .

Because you see I didn’t ask for any of these things

I asked for a baseball glove a GI Joe, and not mittens with strings.

So I sat there all glum and sulked among the clatter

I wanted one more chance to tell Santa what was the matter

Just give me one chance and I’d give a swift kick

Right to the seat of the pants of that idiot St. Nick

He brought my sisters a doll and an Easy Bake Oven

And my brother a Big Wheel but for me I got nothin . . .

Just clothes and galoshes and a pair of cuff links

Yeah I was pretty certain, this Christmas stuff stinks

My idiot siblings didn’t have the first clue

As to why on this Christmas I was feeling so blue

So I went on to bed and started counting the days

I’ll get my revenge, oh yes Santa will pay

Looking out my window at the new fallen snow

I hear a commotion coming from the yard far below

And what do I see that makes me take pause

Why those idiot reindeer and that #$@%! Santa Claus

With baseball bat in hand I sprang from my bed

I’ll give Santa a good one right upside the head

And Dasher and Dancer, and Prancer and Vixen

I’ll swing for the fence and I don’t plan on missin

I yelled, “What the heck were you thinking?” as I ran outside

“You promised me toys, and Santa, you lied”

These mittens are no good and these cuff links are rotten

And who cares if my underwear is 100 percent cotton?

This little old man, this oversized elf

Had a sad look in his eyes that said I blame myself

With new labor laws and the elves out on strike

Plus Rudolph got sick, you don’t know what it’s like

Then Mrs. Claus who is usually quite sweet

Decided this Christmas we will no longer eat meat

I decided right then amidst my misery

That I’d leave nothing but clothes under your Christmas tree

To read all of these lists from the world’s girls and boys

Asking for nothing but candy and toys

Then it hit me like the itch at the end of my nose

It’d be nice to give one kid nothing but clothes

And that’s you my good friend I chose you to receive

The pants and shirts with the extra-long sleeves

It’s you who got mittens and a new pair of socks

While others got toys and presents that rock

So take that Santa said and he flipped me the bird

And he jumped in his sled without nary a word

He looked at me with this sardonic glint in his eye

That said I better watch out, I better not cry

He brought out his whip and gave it a crack

And away they all flew with jingle bells on their backs

And I heard him exclaim as he doffed his red lid

Enjoy the clothes . . . and Merry Christmas kid ...



I never did like that stupid poem anyway.

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