'Twas the Week Before Christmas

'Twas the week before Christmas, and out front of the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The mailbox hung by the front door with care,
Anticipating that a deluge soon would be there.
My wife was watching “Oprah,” our dog in her lap,
And I had just settled down for my afternoon nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my La-Z-Boy to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore back the curtains and threw open the sash.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a parked, white minivan; maybe a repairman from Sears?
With a tired-looking driver, red-faced and obviously ticked,
From his disposition, I knew it wasn’t St. Nick.
Dragging a heavy gray bag, he slowly came,
And he cursed and he shouted, and he called them by name:
“Oh, American Cancer! Oh, World Vision! Oh, St. Jude!
Oh, the soup kitchens! And all of the other charities, too!
My bag is so full, it’s as high as I am tall.
Oh darn them! Darn them! Darn them all!”
So up to the porch he slowly stewed,
With a mailbag full of fundraising letters, and a few bills, too.
His back was aching, bent down to a bow,
But he was keeping his promise to deliver even in snow.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled up my mailbox, then turned with a jerk.
Trudged back to his van, and slumped into his seat,
Away he drove, another load of mail to meet.
But I heard him exclaim, as he made a hard right,
“Will the new year ever come? There’s no end in sight!” u