Christmas Eve at the Casa de la Marybeth Niederkorn

by Marybeth Niederkorn, Poet Extraordinaire

'TWAS the day before Christmas
and all through the house
not a creature was stirring
except Nicole and Ben and Lovecraft and Yoggy
and a very sleepy and cranky Marybeth too.
No tree was up, no Christmas lights,
unless you count the fake ficus
with the skeleton lights from Halloween
that I never took down.
The neighbors' houses were gaudy as sin,
and for once the neighbors dwelt quiet within.
Jerry Springer was on, transvestites and queers,
trailer trash claiming Xmas was near.
This peaceful routine was shattered in twain
when I realized the heater was broken again.
I slapped on my robe, my jammies, my socks,
and thought maybe St. Nick could bring me a box
filled to the brim with a brand-new life,
one where I'm hurried, worried with strife.
Oh wait, there's nothing brand-new about that!
That is, after all, why I have cats.
So I smiled and I said, with joy in my eye,
''Merry Christmas, you fuckers! Let's split a Mai Thai!''

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