Tis the fight before Christmas, we do it each year,
My wife’s in the corner, and I’m standing here.
Majestic between us is our Christmas tree,
My wife just can’t stand it, looks perfect to me.
Our children are hiding under their bed,
It’s the time of the year they’ve all learned to dread.
I look out the window, the neighbors are there,
Bundled up warmly, each one on a chair.
They know what’s coming, that’s easy to see,
They love the battle twixt my wife and me.
My wife gets it started, she says it just once:
“Get the flock off the tree, you stubborn old dunce.”
I squint up my eyes and give her a blast,
In this war of words you gotta be fast.
“Yule trees get sparkle when you live in my South,
And clean up your language you old potty mouth.”
“It’s you that needs clean up,” she says with a smirk,
“In those rumpled dark clothes you look like a jerk.”
“Hah! YOUR fancy pants make you look like a clown,
And with that damn facelift you can’t even frown.”
“Well, look who’s talking, MISTER Anything Goes,
The hair from your bald head now grows in your nose.”
“You harpie! You fusspot! You phony blond vamp!”
“Curmudgeon! You roundhead! You look like a lamp!”
As time moves along, our epithets fly,
A storm of invectives soar out to the sky.
Then, a miracle happens, we speak not a word.
The new silence whispers: “You guys are absurd.”
A hint of a smile I feel deep inside,
Growing so large, it’s too big to hide.
“You’re smiling,” my wife says, with a gleam in her eye.
“If you want to stop now, I’m willing to try.”
“Stopping is easy,” I say with a shrug.
“Let’s end this contest with an extra big hug.”
Our hug takes a long time; we like it that way.
I hold my wife gently, one more thing to say.
With joined hands held high, we go out the front door,
Our neighbors-in-waiting let out a great roar.
Their smiles match our own. I exclaim in delight:
“You can all return home now . . . it’s a wonderful night.”