SANTA WORKS A EXTRA JOB

Twas’ a night two weeks before Christmas.

I sat in front of a bellowing fire savoring a nightcap.

That was when I heard the scratching at my terrace door.

I looked up and spotted Thomas my old tom prepared to scratch once more.

I opened the door just as a great blast of wind began to roar.

Within a wink I was back in my lounger and began to snore.

Oh I know I must sound like a total bore.

Again I was awoke

This time I was provoked

So I gave Thomas a poke.

He sprang from my lap looking as to say,” I don’t get your joke.”

By now I was altogether awoke

I could both see and smell the smoke.

Under the door it curled like spring poison oak.

I sprung from my chair and unto the cold floor.

I had to find out more.

With a furious yank I snatched open the door.

That’s when I saw him smoking his crooked pipe all dressed in blue and black

Our eyes met.

He laughed, “ho ho ho, don’t you fret.”

Its only I the mailman paying my debt.

Last month I missed the payment on my corvette.

Now I must work an extra shift

If not my credit will go adrift.

I looked down and ask, what is in that box?

Never mind, come in and I will pour you a whiskey on the rocks.

He set in my chair sipping, as twelve small dongs sang out from the mantle clock.

He tilted his glass and drank in harmony with each tick tock.

He then stood, rubbed his fat belly and proclaimed, “ I have only one more block.

“Thanks for the drank doc.”

A moment after he shut the door I heard a loud holler.

“Get on up their Prancer you lazy old thing.

Dancer what are you waiting on spring.”

Rudolph flip on your noise so bright.

This has been way too long a night.

I rubbed my head realizing what a mess Barrack Obama had weaved.

Even poor Saint Nick had to roll up his sleeve.

If not his home he would soon have to leave.

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