Thursday, December 9, 2010

Ballad of the Christmas Tree

I watched the tree come tumbling down,
Climbed by three black cats,
Scratching post ignored, they chose
Our tree, those damn three brats!

Candy canes lay dead on the floor,
just corpses, red and white.
Balls unbroken rolled around,
Much to the cats' delight.

Silver tinsel did catch one
Garland's gold another.
Oh, how I'd love a ball of twine
Just for her fat black brother!

Those balls that broke, sounded like
Poppers in the night.
The babies cackled at the tree,
No mercy at my plight.

The wife would soon be home with gifts
To hide until the hour
Santa would slide down--
And, my, he would be sour!

I got the babies from the glass
Of all those broken balls.
I got the broomstick after cats,
Chased them down the halls.

The babies clapped, unhidden glee,
As each escaped my broom.
I'd not be beat by three black rogues;
I'd lock them in a room.

I closed the bedroom door and smiled,
Three kitties locked away.
I heard the front door open then
Demented cry of "Hey!"

I mustered only foolish look,
As she surveyed the mess.
One angry woman glared at me,
Her gaze was not to bless.

The babies laughed, and so did I.
She tossed the gifts aside.
I tried to tell her what transpired.
I swallowed my last pride.

Her look of dismayed anger fell,
As I told the lurid tale
Of her black cats I'd like to kill.
I left out no detail.

We boxed the tree while coffee made,
Our coming Christmas shot.
We laughed like children--don't happen much--
And gave the gifts she'd bought.

The babies tore and ripped and shredded,
And Christmas Eve felt grand.
No tree, no lights, but heartfelt love
Passed from hand to hand.


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