'Tis A Few Weeks 'Til Christmas

By Jackie Papandrew

'Tis a few weeks 'til Christmas, and all through my house,Not a gift has been bought, and I'm feeling like a louse.

The dog chewed up the stockings I left in her reach without care,And I'm hoping St. Nicholas will soon take her with him in the air.

My young consumers, er, children, nestle each night snug in their beds,With visions of toy commercials dancing in their heads.

And me in my stained sweatpants, with my hair in a cap,I'm too seasonally stressed for even a short winter's nap.

When out near my lawn the other night, there arose such a clatter,I tripped over last year's toys trying to see what was the matter.

Down hard on the floor, I fell with a crash,Tore a hole in those sweatpants, and on my leg was a gash.

The moon on the tops of our inflatable holiday decorations below,Gave a luster of true tackiness to my fake falling snow.

When what to my weary eyes should appear,But a miniature sleigh across the street, surrounded by eight plastic reindeer.

Being erected by my neighbor, in a manner so lively and quick,I knew in a moment my Yuletide decor needed a good kick.

Slightly more rapid than turtles, my children they came,When I whistled and shouted and called them by name.

Now Boys! Now Girl! Now Bad Dancers and Little Vixen!On Retailers' Dreams! On Merchandisers' Minions!

Put more lights on the porch! Put more lights on the walls!We must impress the neighbors! Now dash away all!

As dry leaves that before the manic shoppers' eyes fly,When they rush to the stores, their panic mounting to the sky.

So the next day, at my bidding, my husband he flew,To our housetop with more lights, and a bad attitude too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,The prancing and pawing of his big, awkward hoof.

As I rushed outside, and was turning around,Sliding off the roof, my husband came with a bound.

He was dressed in his grubbies from his head to his foot,So it didn't matter that his clothes were tarnished with leaves and a root.

But a bundle of lights he still held on his back,And he looked like a murderer when he gave me that sack.

He glared at me, 'til I felt very wary,His cheeks, they were burning as red as a cherry.
His not-so-droll mouth told me his anger I did sow,And I feared that his temper, it surely would blow.

A stray piece of grass, he picked out of his teeth,Then he brushed off the leaves encircling his head like a wreath.

He had a mad face, and his little round belly,It shooked when he moaned like a bowl fully of jelly.

He's a bit chubby and plump, usually a right jolly old elf,But I didn't dare laugh at him, if I valued myself.

The frown on his face, and the twist of his head,Soon gave me to know I had something to dread.

He spoke not a word, but he'd given up on this work,With his hand on his sore back, he turned with a jerk.

I started to speak, but he pointed his finger at my nose,And shaking his head, up the stairs to our bedroom he rose.

He fell into bed, to the dog gave a whistle,And the children all scattered like the down of a thistle.

But I heard them exclaim as they dove out of sight,"Poor Dad! He's not going to have a good night."

© Jackie Papandrew 2008, All Rights Reserved

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