I was looking through my old files a couple days ago, when I happened upon this abandoned poem from 1991. I polished it up a bit and gave it an ending, and now I present it to you.
It was Christmas day dinner.
I remember it well.
The whole house was filled
with that Christmasy smell.
There were cranberries, stuffing,
and cider for all.
A twenty-pound turkey
we won at the mall.
I had just filled my plate up,
when over the chatter,
I heard someone knocking,
so I put down my platter.
I opened the door,
and who should I see?
Uncle Bill Mockley
smiling at me.
He said “Merry Christmas!â€
and reached for a hug.
I backed away quickly
and stared at the lug.
He asked what was wrong,
as if I need tell.
He was naked and dirty
and drunker than hell.
Yes naked, I tell you,
from his head to his toes.
Not a stitch was he wearing.
’twas all out for show.
He pushed his way past me,
displaying all things.
Then he opened his arms,
and he started to sing.
My mother just fainted.
My aunt sat and stared.
My sister kept eating,
as if she could care.
I stood there embarrassed,
my face red and hot.
My dad tried to tackle him,
but, alas, he could not.
He chased him through the kitchen,
and out to the pool.
They ran passed the wet bar,
knocking over some stools.
Then Bill turned around
and he let out a roar.
He peed on the carpet
and ran for the door.
And I heard him exclaim,
as he streaked through the night,
“Happy Christmas to all,
and to all a good night!”
Happy Christmas, Uncle Bill. You plagiaristic bastard.
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