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The Day After Thanksgiving

Twas the day after Thanksgiving and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The children were tired from all of the food,
The Christmas decorations out, all rather crude.

The adults were sitting there, groaning aloud,
While unhappiness hung above heads like a cloud;

And mum in her kerchief, I in my hat,
had just settled down, not burning the fat,
When from the lawn there came such the clatter,
I rose from my lounging to see "what's the matter?".
Away to the window I crawled with restriction,
Opened it slowly without much conviction;
The florida sun on the same winter's grass
Made all seem as normal as the donkey's a**,
When, something quite exciting had happened at last!

A man just outside, with a small deformed ear,
Who had, just then, chosen to appear;
I figured that it was Saint Nick he must be,
As he mumbled a brusque "hello, lass" to me,
And asked for a beer, that's what he did,
"No sir," I said, "Why, I'm just a kid!"
He left there and then, Saint Nick he wasn't not,
But all I could think of was the Florida hot;
Not thinking yet to have a saddness painted
On my little face, as I and Santa were now aquainted.
So I returned to my laying, to be sad later,
Though my mum was gone, Santa had ate her.
I realized this, and took the escalator;

Up to the roof on which Santa lay,
In the heat of the sun in the dawn of the day,
I confronted him, "Now sir, if you would see here--"
But he cut me off- "Lass, get me a beer!"
So in misery I lay, crying til I wept,
When out of the shadows a little mouse crept.
"I can help you, young boy," said the small mouse with glee,
As he silently crept right up beside me,
"Just do as I say, I will do you no harm,
Go and pluck a hair from that oaf Santa's arm!"
I did as he said, plucking one with such care,
When the Santa rose up and grabbed my underwear.
"Let go!" I did cry, feeling very scared,
But all I knew was that he wouldn't have cared,
"What now, mouse?" I cried, and swung through the air,
When in my finger I saw was the hair.
T'was quite sharp, that hair, it was,
I poked him right hard, the way a needle does.
He bellowed, he yowled, he threw back his head,
And then came the throw that I'd come to dread;
He flung me, and I cried with a small yelp,
And called and called and called for help.
Suddenly, there was my mom in her beauty,
Not eaten at all, she was cooking, her duty.
Boy was I glad to see her nice face
As she clasped me into a tight, warm embrace.

And to this day, I still can't find the mouse,
But I know he is there, somewhere in the house.