T’Was The Day After-Christmas
T’was the day after Christmas, the houses were deafening, people full and cantankerous, playing with new games, ‘dead reckoning’. The stockings torn asunder ripped open bare, St. Nickolas having been gone 24 hours and next year Christmas forswear#.
The Children were long gone from their beds, while they raved non-stop all sugared up, caffeined in their heads. Mamma with frazzled hair looked at me a nervous tic, we had just collapsed, lighting up with our bics.
At the front door, there arose such knocking, “You see who it is”, we said to each other, balking. At the window I was shoved, my face pushed through the sash, it was the police, so i threw down my cigs, my skin looking ash.
In the clear morning dawn, the rose-colored sun over the asphalt gave a magical flawn*. What to my blurred eyes could discern, the kids were lined up, like hoodlums, tempting me to say ‘They’re not my concern.”
The police looking around, not missing a trick, saw us blushing and knew in a moment the kids were ours, thick. The kids, seeing something amiss, ran to the door, a cacophony of excuses ruining our bliss.
“Not us, Not me, we didn’t do it”, “It was like that when we found it”, the kids all shouted, trying to pull wool over our eyes, trying to acquit. We looked at the kids, we looked at the wall, the windows were broken, we said to the police ‘Take them down for the haul’.
The kids got the dry heaves, over-burdened with guilt, they hadn’t counted on mom or dad not caring their tears were spilt. So the police made a show of their buckles and handcuffs, the kids looking at the broken windows while the police taking away full hands of foodstuffs.
It was then we had an inkling, as I heard a few sniffles, the approach of a scary new official. The picture I drew in my head as it pounded, across the asphalt he came closer I knew the kids would be grounded.
He was dressed all in blue, from his neck to his ankle, his face was all stern, from frowning and his bright badge, gleaming, said “Capt. Frankl”. His mouth was a thin line all in white, his chin was clean-shaven and looked like he would smite.
His jawline was impressive, his grimace complete, the smoke coming from his ears made the scene ever replete. The kids were all puddles themselves, mamma and myself, we may have peed, ourselves.
He was tall and muscular, a serious bloke, neither mamma nor I dared breathe, we thought we would choke. He gave a slight wink, a nod of his head, we knew no charges were filed, however, we knew of money we would soon be bled.
Not a word was spoken, the guy walked along, silent and grave, he looked as if paddling was coming with a strong sturdy strave+. At the kids his thumb jerking over his shoulder, both momma and myself would take turns being scolder.
He turned with quickstep, the other police went along, away they all drove, for they knew we’d replace windows and the kids’ grounding we strove. No more candy we gave, no more free reign they would have, for we learned a lesson and could not believe these kids we had calved.
By Brick ONeil to all the parents out there.
*flat custard or pie #formally reject or disavow a formerly held belief, usually under pressure + one of several thin slats of wood forming the sides of a barrel or bucket
Written with help from http://www.rhymezone.com