Dismay in December

Dismay in December
by
Betty Ann Fisher

All the rubble ’round me lies,
all shot to Heck before my eyes.
The trigger’s bent on that big gun;
he thinks I’ll buy another one.
The poor stuffed dog has lost his nose,
and someone stepped on the turtle’s toes.

He broke the pedal of the trike;
the one I was so sure he’d like.
The new rug’s all marked up with glue;
those Sparkle paints were something new.
The power saw and bench were nice,
but they’re all fouled up from slicing ice.

The chemistry set was just delightful,
but the smell, my dear, was simply frightful!
The test tubes are all broken now.
There’s not much left from the awful row
over who was going to eat the cake
that the small guy made with the Easy-Bake.

Santa’s gone for another year.
I’ve had my fill of joy and cheer.
In case he plans on coming back,
he can take the things in his big pack
to someone else’s sons and nieces,
or else stay around to mend the pieces.

Yes… I had an Easy-Bake oven as a child. And who says we aren’t born gay? Merry Christmas!
This poem is from my mom’s book, Please Delay Departure.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *