It’s that time again and the holidays are here,
But I’m filled with a rage instead of, the expected holiday cheer,
Some people adapt well and can go with the flow,
As for me…I want to tell people EXACTLY where they can go
The traffic jams, slow pedestrians, the weaving car that sped,
Gives me visions of sugar-plums DROPPING on, each and every head
People crowding the stores, smelly candles and Christmas lights every I look,
Makes me wanna grab that smiley condescending cashier, and give him a taste of my right hook
The family obligations, expectations and greed
Drives me crazy, makes me angry, a real scrooge I become, indeed
Waiving to the neighbors, sending cards and returning long lost calls,
As I grit my teeth and picture DECKING, every single one of their halls
Every year home made sweaters, socks and underwear, and cheap toys that break,
I’d rather roast my chestnuts than be good for goodness sake
So this poem isn’t so happy, jolly or so nice?
You can’t believe I wrote this, well let me give you some advice
Don’t tell me to “get in the spirit”, “enjoy the holidays”, “it’s once a year”,
Around these parts those are fighting words and on dinner tables are 8 tiny reindeer
No one ever thinks how I feel, alone and all depressed,
I’m just told to eat, drink, and be merry and make sure I’m appropriately dressed
All I really want come winter, is to hibernate and take a pause,
But sadly I have work to do…signed sincerely…Santa Clause.
Reprints allowed with attribution to Brice M. Julian-Evans
