damned liesends & odd

A visit to St. Nick

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Twas the night before Wednesday, when all through the house,
“It’s a feature of Tuesday,” the man started to grouse.
The mockings were flung by the chummy who bear
good tidings to all, no need to despair.

The shoppers were wrestled, tho’ sick in the head,
while visions of sweet-deals they charged to their cred.
All for the purchase of some Christmas crap,
gift-giving that leads into a debt-trap.
When in come the bills for all the flapdoodle,
in spring I imagine, whole kit-n-caboodle,
away to the window they’ll fly like a flash,
forlorn and lamenting, “I should’ve paid cash!”

A boon to the rest your troubled cash-flow,
and gone is the luster of the objects bestowed.
When what to consumer’s minds should occur,
but a Santa Claus slain and a friendly juror.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
and killed all the shopping, then turned to the jerk.
And laying his finger aside the gun’s trigger,
unloaded his weapon with all vim and vigor!

His guilt they did weigh and to the bailiff gave whistle,
in a way they all knew would make many bristle.
But I heard them exclaim, “Not guilty, that’s right!
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

Mr. Baldwin is a doctoral candidate of comparative literature and cultural studies at the University of Arkansas. He is a self-described free-market anti-capitalist harboring anarchist utopian fantasies. The best that can be said of him is that, presumably, his mother loves him.

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