By: David Frank


'Twas the day after Christmas and all through the house
Children sat slack-jawed, bored on the couch.

Wrappings and toys littered the floor,
An incredible mess that I did abhor.

With Mom in her robe and I in my jeans,
We waded in to get the place clean.

When suddenly the doorbell: it started to clatter,
I sprang to the Security-View to check out the matter.

The new-fallen snow, now blackened with soot,
Was trampled and icy and treacherous to foot.

But suddenly in view, did I gasp and pant:
An unhappy bill collector and eight tiny accountants.

The door flew open and in they came,
Stern-looking men with bills in my name.

On Discover, on Visa, on American Express,
On Mastercard too, I sadly confess,

Right to my limits, then beyond my net worth,
Over the top I had charged, in a frenzy of mirth.

The black-suited men, so somber, so strict,
I wondered why me that they had first picked.

They stared at me with a look I couldn't miss,
That said "Buddy, when are you for paying for this?"

I shrugged my shoulders, but then I grew bolder,
Went to the cabinet and pulled out a folder.

"As you can see," I said with a smile,
"It's bankruptcy that I'll have to file!"

And with a swoop of my arm, my middle digit extended
I threw the bills in the fire: the matter had ended.

The scent of burnt ash came to my nose,
As up the chimney my credit-worthiness rose.

Without another word they turned and walked out,
Got into their limos, but one gave a shout:

"You may think that's the answer to all of your fears,
But it's nothing you'll charge for at least seven years!