Twas The Week Before Christmas

Twas The Week Before Christmas is a poem born of the mind of author Ethan Holmes. This is clinical proof of what happens when you spend too much time alone.

Twas The Week Before Christmas

Twas the week before Christmas and all through the stores

People were pushing and shoving and scrambling for more

Christmas lights were hung all over window and sill

In the hopes that we could pay the electric bill.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds

With visions of Iphones dancing in their heads

And mamma with her Tylenol and I with my booze

Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s snooze.

When out in the street there arose such a clatter

I grabbed the shotgun to see what was the matter

Away to the door I flew like a flash

Locking the deadbolt and hiding my stash.

The security light shone on the new fallen snow

Revealing a crowd in the street down below

When what to my wondering eyes should appear

Eight cop cars, an ambulance and a street strewn with beer.

With a little old driver looking pale and quite sick

I knew in a moment this couldn’t be St. Nick

Out of their pockets everyone’s cell phone came

While the old drunk cursed and called them bad names.

“Now drop to the ground, put your hands in the air”

The cops reached for handcuffs and pulled out a pair

“On your belly, don’t you move, put your face in the snow”

“This Christmas night to jail you will go.”

The old man spotted my ladder by the house

And up he flew to the roof quick as a mouse

Up to the housetop he carried a sack

While the cops tried to plug him with a stun gun in the back

And then on the roof I heard after a while

The breaking and cracking of each little tile

As I checked the empty gun barrel and was turning around

This old man came down the chimney with a bound

He was dressed in a sweatsuit from his head to his foot

And his clothes were all torn and covered with soot

A bundle of something he had in his sack

And he looked like a drug dealer going through his pack.

His eyes didn’t twinkle and his dimples were deep

His cheeks were quite sunken and he looked like a creep

His droll little mouth looked like a black pool

And the beard on his chin was covered with frozen drool.

The stump of a joint he clenched tight in his teeth

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath

He had a pimply face and little dark eyes

And a big round belly that spoke of too many french fries.

He was wobbly and pale, a quite jolly ol’ drunk

And I laughed as I watched him fall down with a clunk

A wink from his eye and a nod toward his gun

And I knew then and there this would not be fun.

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work

He took all our stuff and turned with a jerk

And pulling a hankie to blow his nose

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose

He sprang to the roof edge to sing out a carol

And the cops plugged him good, like fish in a barrel

The ambulance driver, ere he drove out of sight,

Yelled out the window,

“Happy Christmas to all and to all a good-night!”

Ethan Holmes is the author of six books, including his latest novel, Water. It’s available in all ebook forms and paperback.

As a holiday present to all, Ethan Holmes has made his collection of “best of” short stories, Shorts and Other Laundry available for free on Amazon. Shorts and Other Laundry is also available for free in any ebook format here. Or you may email me and request your copy in pdf format or Word. Reviews and comments are welcome.

May you have a safe and happy holiday. Ethan Holmes

Follow me like a zombie.