The Night After Christmas

Twas the night after Christmas and all over the house
were the remnants of gift wrap and overstuffed mouths.
The dinner all done and the relatives left
just me and the Mrs. to deal with the mess.

The children out driving one party to the next,
and their friends all chatty while doing the text.
The Mrs. and I were planning some sleep
but unfinished cleaning, it just would not keep.

When out of the closet burst forth such a noise
I sprang up from my lounge chair and tripped on some toys.
Across the floor came our vacuum and duster
propelled by a phantom, his name was Dust Buster.

I said “Holy cow. From whence did you come?”
He looked at me winked and asked “Too much rum?”
His presence did startle my over stuffed self,
I stepped back and asked him “Are you an elf?”

“Elf? Oh not me. I am just as I seem.
Not a man, not a ghost, something somewhere between.
I came from your closet, in the back on the floor.
The dark place inside there where light shines no more.”

“You came out to clear away the debris?
How helpful of you. Do you work for free?”

“Yes. For all of my service there is never a charge,
as long as I can roam round your home at large.
You see, it is boring inside that dark space
I feel claustrophobic and must get out of that place.”

“OK! It’s a deal, but I what’s in it for you? No W-9? No W-2?”

He said, “I’m part of a union. There are things I can’t do.
I have a shop steward to bargain with you.
I do not do windows and I do not cook,
If you think I work weekends then you are a schnook.
I cannot lift heavy or cumbersome stuff,
like garbage, recycling or laundry with fluff.
And after 12:30 I’ll be on break till 4,
when my soaps and Oprah on TV are no more.
I’m off on Mondays and Tuesday won’t do,
I’ll work half day Wednesday, is that OK with you?”

“Hey wait a minute.” I just had to say,
“It’s a terrible thing to start off this way.
You came out of the closet with an offer quite nice,
but pushy demanding will never entice.
I have other options for help round this house.
Mr. Hoover, the Swiffer and my friend Mr. Clean.
With you what’s the point? Your help won’t be seen.
Your schedule sounds like a part-time vacation,
you’d be better to re-locate to some third world nation.”

He said “A wise guy you are! I’ll report you I say.
You can’t talk to me that job busting way.
I know people at Acorn. In trouble you’ll be.
You’ll be on 60 Minutes, you’ll be on TV.”

“Get lost you dirt bag, you part time job loafer.
You’re a thug and a goon, I advise you leave soon.
Hard work is a virtue,
For some hard to learn.
Reward for good work is something to earn.
So leave or go back to the space whence you came,
Or you’ll get what the bad get and more of the same.”

He turned and left me, sluffed off like a slug
and never came back nor since crawled out from the rug.

It’s creepy to think he might still be around,
but of him I’ve never since heard a sound.

Was it a spook or a spirit or a tired vision of my sight?
I’ll never be quite sure what happened that Christmas night.
www.JohnCBieber.com