This Christmas will be different
From the ones we've had before.
Those countless gifts of Christmas past,
This year, will be no more.

Each year we spin that same old yarn
Of how we're cutting back,
But every year old Santa seems
To have a bigger sack.

We search the house until we've found
That artificial tree.
We gave up on the real thing
Back in 1993.

Then with some lights and tinsel
And a mood not quite sincere,
We decorate that imitation
Spruce another year.

When Christmas Eve arrives
And all the kids are put to bed,
Right after all the Christmas poems
And stories have been read,

'Tis then the wife and I arrange,
Around that Christmas tree,
Those many gifts that we had vowed,
This year, were not to be.

And then we sit back and relax
And drink some Christmas cheer,
Preparing for the onslaught
That, next morning, will appear.

And then as we predicted,
Just before the rooster crows,
The kids come piling down the stairs
Some naked, some in clothes.

They tear right through their stockings,
And they're on their sugar highs
Before I get a chance to wipe
The sleep seeds from my eyes.

And then we have a fight to see
Who's passing out the gifts,
And when the quarrel's over,
We decide to go in shifts.

Now each is keeping tally
Of the presents that they get,
And when this mayhem's over,
There'll be tears, now you can bet.

It seems new clothes for presents
Have not been too well received.
The young ones in the family
Seem to be the most aggrieved.

New underpants and new tee shirts
Have all been thrown aside,
But there is not a single plaything
That has been untried.

I take a look around me
At the mess that has been made,
And then out to the kitchen
Through the mess and culch I wade.

I open up the cupboard,
And it's then that I must choose -
Some coffee that will wake me up,
Or grab a drink of booze.

Before I can decide, I have
Been summoned to referee.
A conflict that is taking place
Beneath the Christmas tree.

It seems some untagged present
Is the reason for this row.
But once they find that it's just clothes,
There's peace and quiet now.

The kids all finally get into
A really weird routine.
It's just about the strangest thing
That I have ever seen.

Now some are wearing headphones,
And there's some with video games.
There's I-pods and there's I-pads
And some others with odd names.

The room is wrapped in silence
As these children are obsessed
With all those many mindless games
That I, for one, detest.

But I now say a thankful prayer
To those computer geeks
Who've brought a much sought after calm
That this old household seeks.

So I slip from my chair before
I wake up from this dream,
And sneak down to my man cave
With a bottle of Jim Beam.