A holiday poem

'Twas the week after Christmas, and all through the house
Kids were in trouble for staining Mom's blouse.
They hid in their rooms, as quiet as mice,
While Mom stormed, "We can't have anything NICE."

The kids hid and whispered and hoped for relief,
They knew Mom was ready to give them some grief,
They feared that they faced an untimely doom,
Unless they stayed hidden 'til school could resume.

Dad didn't bother to see what was the matter.
He lounged on the couch, growing ever fatter,
Caught up in the football games on TV,
"Too busy" to take down this year's Christmas tree.

Dad thought a hot pizza would be just super,
The perfect food to prolong his stupor.
But Mom snapped: "No new snacks we'll be heatin'
'Til all these Christmas leftovers are eaten."

'Twas the week after Christmas and no one was jolly.
The tinsel's all tattered, dried-up is the holly.
The stockings that hung by the chimney with care
Now lie in a heap behind Mom's favorite chair.

It's the week when the garbage can overflows,
With gift-wrapping paper, boxes and bows,
Apple cores, pine needles, crumbs from some sweets,
And somewhere, down deep, all-important receipts.

It should be a merry time for all girls and boys,
The week when they're busy with new Christmas toys.
But the words feared most have already been spoken:
"I'm sorry, my child, but this gizmo's broken."

Some toys have survived since they were unwrapped,
But now they won't go 'cause their energy's sapped.
Mom says to Dad, "Would you get up from there, please,
"And go to the store for more batteries?"

Dad agrees, in the interest of peace and quiet,
And the chance to sneak pizza into his diet,
But he'll end up regretting this trip to the store,
For post-Christmas sales have drawn shoppers galore.

While Dad battles traffic, Mom will calm down,
And sit in the kitchen, her face in a frown,
She'll sit and she'll ponder and search for a reason,
Why it's always so tense, the post-holiday season.

Why is Christmas, that joyous season of giving,
Followed by this stressful nightmare we're living?
Why can't we keep the spirit of peace and good cheer,
At least long enough to celebrate the New Year?

She'll get up from the table, give her shoulders a shrug,
Go hunt up the children and give them a hug.
Tell them all's forgiven and allay their fears.
"Kids are more important than blouses, my dears."

Heed Mom's example, as you live through this week,
As the kids drive you crazy with toys that go squeak.
Remember to keep Christmas spirit alive.
(It's weeks 'til the credit-card bills arrive.)


Selma Rockett said...

Wonderful poem! You sound like a tired Santa!

Philbert said...



Thanks! The poem's a few years old. This Christmas has been very relaxed and happy.