The Day After Christmas



‘Twas the day after Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were flung on the floor without care,

The tree, once so proud, now stood lifeless and bare.

Little Sue’s dolly was missing her head,

John’s truck had a wreck when the batteries went dead.

There were boxes and ribbons and wrappings galore,

Huge mountains of trash on the pine-needle floor,

And ma in her undies, and me in the buff

Had just settled down–we’d had quite enough!

I’d had too much eggnog and fruitcake with nuts

And the fudge Patty made felt like stone in my guts.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter;

Away to the window I managed to trudge,

Tore open the shutters, and threw up the fudge.

The moon on the crest of the new-fallen snow

Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.

When, what did my wondering eyes behold then,

But a huge garbage truck and eight garbage men,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a flash it was garbageman Nick.

He was covered with filth from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

A bundle of trash he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a hobo just toting his pack.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work–

Although when he saw me, he turned with a jerk,

And laying a finger aside of his nose,

He offered a gesture I cannot disclose.

He sprang to his truck, to his team gave a yell,

And away they all flew like a bat out of hell,

And there I stood naked, and framed by the sash,

With my gut full of pain and my house full of trash,

But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,

“It’s last call for trash ‘fore we all go on strike!”


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