'Twas the night before Thanksgiving and I and the spouse
looked forward to going to my brother's house.
Christmas tunes on the radio seemed premature;
not festive but vexing, a test to endure.
We've not had our turkey, our cranberries, our dressing.
The big box stores' ads with my mojo were messing.
Were they here now our Pilgrim forebears would say:
"Thou hast screwed mightily with our Thankful Feast Day!"
Black Friday has rendered Thanksgiving a bump
in the road to Christmas' lucrative jump.
The quest for bargains and deals won't relent.
I refuse to eat pumpkin pie in a tent
at Best Buy, at Costco, at Target, at Lowes
at Macy's, Old Navy, Wal-Mart, Bass Pro!
The marketing folks think they've got us all pegged.
We'll fork over the cash for which they have begged.
But they'll learn, like the Grinch did that Christmas of yore,
That holiday spirit isn't bought in a store.
There'll be crowds on Friday lined up at the mall.
As for me, I'll be home looking back on it all.
From the turkey, that for us my brother did fry,
to the last savory morsel of Mom's apple pie.
And I ask for one thing, 'cause it only seems right:
Just a few more days, please, 'til I hear "Silent Night"?