Because we all want to write more poems.
Christmas cheer
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that some fruit baskets wouldn’t land there,
Tearing a hole and then dropping clean through
Just to land on the floor in a pile of fruit goo—
Which would hardly provide us distraction enough
From the sight of old Santy Claus, there in the buff,
One mit on a bottle, one clutching a ham;
He’s gnawin’ and swiggin’ and trying to cram
All the silver and technoswag into his sack
While dispensing a view of his ample butt-crack.
There’s nothing like Christmas out here in the sticks
Where the easement’s disputed, the neighbors are hicks,
The basement’s no match for this climate-change rain,
And our blueberry-growing is sadly in vain.
But some holiday cheer is enough for today,
Word With Friends is a game that we all now can play
(Except Artie, because he still lacks a device),
And—wouldn’t you know?—Santy found us all nice.
- Benjamin Gorman's Shared Poems
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Benjamin Gorman
December 25, 2012
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This sentiment
appeared on the Christmas cards I handed out this morning.