Twas the day after Christmas

'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,
OUer 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!