'Twas Two Days After Christmas

(With apologies to Clement Moore.)

'Twas two days after Christmas and there on the floor,
Lay paper and ribbons from two days before.
The stockings we'd hung by the chimney last week,
Were sweat-socks from Dad that were starting to reek.

The tree in the corner was brittle and brown
Super Bowl Sunday is when it comes down.
How Santa could slide in his sleigh we don't know.
The planet is warming; we ain't got no snow.

I woke up this morning to empty my bladder,
And stepped on my brother's new fire truck and ladder.
The stress of the holiday gave me a rash.
I got a new coat; what I wanted was cash.

Dad sipped from a hangover brew in a cup.
"I take the lights down, then I put them back up.
I'm making a vow, and I'm holding my ground:
From now on, our lights will stay up year round!"

When Mom's parents visit?  "I'll shorten their stay!
I'll play Christmas carols well into May!"
When fireworks are booming and lighting the sky?
"I'll plug in our house on the fourth of July!"

 "It's bound to catch on, these perpetual lights.
You'll see it in Clayton and in Richmond Heights.
No apparel to don and not one hall to deck.
No roofs to be climbed on to risk your damn neck.

"There'll be no more balsams or frasers for me!
I'll put up a permanent store-bought fake tree
With permanent tinsel; then I'll just let it be.
It'll stay in our window for neighbors to see."

Dad seems determined to face confrontations
He's perm'nently put up all our decorations.
Some call him a hoosier, or terms just as mean.
But he's all set for Christmas—in 2013.