Twas The Week Before Christmas
Twas the week before Christmas, in Cubicle-land
Not a worker was working, you must understand.
The bosses left early for holiday drinks,
Their winter equivalent of hitting the links.
Employees were nestled all snug in their cubes,
Sipping hot chocolate and watching YouTube.
Productivity reached an insurmountable hump,
As they turned off their brains for a post-lunchtime slump.
When from Larry’s office there arose such a clatter,
I took my time getting up to see what was the matter.
Fairly sure it had zero importance to me,
I casually strolled over, just to see.
The sun streaming in through the vertical blinds,
Lit up a great horror of the holiday kind.
When what to my eyes should appear so bizarre?
A Secret Santa gift to Larry, from Marge in HR.
With ceramic white fur and a Santa Claus hat,
I knew in a moment it was a cookie jar cat.
Poor Larry hadn’t words for the gift he’d received,
So he coughed and he snickered, and he passed it to Steve.
“Now listen! Now look! Now hear my admission!
I sank twenty bucks into this stupid tradition!
A gift card to Starbucks is what I bought Nathan,
And all that I get is this Goodwill donation?”
And then, in a twinkling that seemed quite a pity,
Steve let out a sneeze, and down fell the kitty.
It crashed to the floor and it smashed all around,
And then through the doorway came Marge with a bound.
She was dressed all in red, from her shoes to her hair,
Her sweater emblazoned with holiday flair.
She’d been headed out back for her afternoon smoke,
When she followed the laughter from some sort of joke.
Her eyes – how they widened at the sight of her gift,
Her cheeks were likes roses, her nostrils they sniffed.
From her droll little mouth erupted a roar,
The cigarettes dropped from her hand to the floor.
Her skin was of leather, like a burnt up old elf,
And I laughed when I saw her, in spite of myself!
A wink of her eye and a twist of her head,
Soon gave me to know that she wished I was dead.
She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,
Salvaging cat pieces, then she turned with a jerk.
“I thought you would like it, not tear it apart!
These jars are exclusive to only Walmart!”
Larry sprang from his desk, his spirit renewed,
Apologized to Marge, and vowed to have it re-glued.
“It was a beautiful gift, full of character and style!
Now please do not mess with my personal file.”
They made their amends and I made my retreat,
To find my own Secret Santa gift left on my seat.
I exclaimed to myself and threw the card in the trash,
“Happy Christmas to me, it’s twenty bucks cash!”