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Poem
twas the morning of Christmas,
when I spied a mouse,
on Christmas Eve,
he had the run,
of our house,
the stockings we'd hung,
by the chimney with care,
suspiciously were, 
no longer there,


the children all jumping, 
on their warm beds,
were screaming for presents,
from the fellow in red,
I was just craving, 
some breakfast fare,
mother still sipping, 
from her night cap,
was already wishing, 
for an overdue nap,


when down in the kitchen,
as if it should matter,
a man dressed in red,
was stirring cake batter,
as hungry as I,
away to the fridge,
I flew like the Flash,
handed him eggs, 
and took out the trash,
I turned on the lights, 
and to my worst fear,
behind the trash can,
mice droppings, 
did appear,

those little mice,
so lively and quick,
even out smarted, 
old Saint Nick,
more rapid than new years,
their cousins they came,
they squeaked, 
as he whistled,
and called them by name,
"now Smasher, now Lancer, now Stasher and Smitten,
on Closet, on Booted, on Wandered and Bitten,
to the top of the fridge, 
chew a hole in the walls,
chew away, chew away,
chew away all!"

and then in an instance,
I saw from our fridge,
the cold cuts and cheese,
disappearing with ease,
the man dressed in red,
with icing on his fingers,
and sprinkles on his head, 
wearing black boots,
his white beard all tarnished,
with ashes and soot,
it's what gave him away, 
as to how he got in,
and ended up, 
in our kitchen,

the mice he ignored,
as they all scattered, 
towards the back door,
leaving little tiny presents, 
across our clean floors,
 
he looked like an elf,
he had a round face, 
and a rather broad belly,
and in spite of himself,
it shook, 
when he laughed,
and made him look silly,
he spoke not a word,
and went straight, 
to his work,
he iced the cake, 
but like a jerk,
he left not one bite,
just small crumbs,
for his eight tiny mice,

then,
with a wink from his eye,
and a lick of his thumb,
a nod from his head,
said I "how dumb,"
it all left me knowing, 
without being said,
in cahoots with those mice,
was that jolly elf,
dressed in red,


he was now aware, 
I was onto his game,
presents for us,
was not why he came,
chasing him across the front lawn,
with obscenities I managed to chatter,
the family all came, 
to see what the heck was the matter,
as I heard him exclaim,
as he ran outta sight,
"please tell my mice,
i'll be back for them,
by midnight!"



~Vickie Thayer~Poetry To Ponder~
                        2017
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