Sunday, November 6, 2011

Twas the Night Before Christmas...kind of...

Twas the night before Christmas when I finished the rum
And wrapped up my drunken “pa rum pa pum pum”
The stockings were hung, haphazardly so,
Too close to the fire and starting to glow.

The children were still up, waiting for morn,
Reading their young adult vampire porn.
I passed out on the landing, the stairs were too steep.
I'd had too much liquor to do more than sleep. 

A clamor outside made me wake with a yawn
And my dream about Neil Patrick Harris was gone.
I grumbled and groaned and tripped over the trash
Of pre-christmas presents I'd trade in for cash.

A shadow was cast on the lawn, badly kept.
Plastered and puzzled, outside I schlepped. 
When, what to my hammered, red eyes should appear
A decorative deer missing both of its ears. 

With a little old redneck behind the deer, crouched,
I remembered I'd earlier punched the guy out.
More rapid than gumbo, lost hours arrived,
Reminding that rum wasn't all I'd imbibed.

On uppers, on downers, peyote and grass,
Nutmeg and mushrooms, all before Sunday mass.
To the top of my head to the toes in my shoes,
Dash it all, I shouldn't have added the booze. 

The man by the deer was at last coming to,
And I hadn't the foggiest idea what to do.
Back on his footing, he pointed a finger:
A ivory sausage sprinkled with ginger.

I ran for my house, away from the beast
Who pranced like a hippo covered in grease.
As I drew closed the door, he fell in the mud,
Rousing the children with his mighty thud.

They stared at me, wide-eyed, through wrought-iron posts.
Looking like rosy-cheeked Aryan ghosts. 
I couldn't deny their looks of surprise,
With fire reflected in their glistening eyes. 

The flames: how they crackled! The stockings, how charred!
It was a good thing no kids were around to be scarred.
That's right! There were kids! Behaving so rotten
They reminded me of something I'd till then forgotten.

I'd been having such a wonderful holiday ball, 
I only then realized I had no children at all.
Stuck between fire and another man's kin, 
I wondered whose goddamn house I was in.

So chubby and plump was the man at the door,
I laughed when he once more fell to the floor. 
I didn't laugh long when he smashed in the glass,
And unlocked the door surprisingly fast.

He spoke not a word but went straight for my head.
Followed by a man dressed only in red. 
“Santa?” I squeaked before the man choked me out.
I awoke when the fireman laid me on the couch.

“You partied too hard,” he said with a grin
That had hints of eggnog, tobacco, and gin. 
“It's the night before Christmas, this is real living,”
I said, and he chortled, “It's only Thanksgiving.”

FauxPoWriMo #6

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