The Night Before Christmas at My House

[written for the Poets United Thursday Think Tank prompt: stockings]

The stockings aren’t hung.

It should be no surprise.
In today’s economy,
Santa has to downsize.


The Walmart shoppers
have slowed to a trickle.
If you’re not done by now,
you’re in a real pickle.


Jeff crashes in and out
to the front porch to smoke.
Jon groans:
“Trying to sleep
in this house is a joke”


In the living room Steph and Gord,
tucked in their bed,
watch dreams of a night’s sleep
die in their head.


Jeff’s back! Reaching for
the doorknob with glee.
Five dogs raise their heads:
“Oh, it’s time to go pee!”


Walking dogs in the dark,
I fall in the ditch.
This Christmas gig
can be a real b-tch!


Mother Hubbard arrives
to prepare the big feast.
How’ll she ever turn
lentils and beans
to Roast Beast?


Old Dog thinks he’s died
and gone straight to Dog Hell,
and his owner suspects
she has gone there as well.


Sixteen humans
are coming for dinner
and bringing eight dogs.
Someone’s a real winner!


I’m the old woman
who lives in a shoe.
We’ll have to hang ‘em on pegs
or else go somewhere new.


Two hundred inches
of rain falling down:
Here’s hoping Santa
and his reindeer don’t drown.


I can make it till Christmas
is over, I think,
especially if you pour me
one more little drink ;)