Never returned from Memory Lane.
Her cat's named "Bulldog" her dog's named "Fish"
She makes a casserole called Petri Dish.
But those are small things compared to one,
Those things don't matter, they're kind of fun.
This is madness A La Mode,
Aunt gets festive with her commode.
She decorates it once a year,
To all but her it is quite queer.
At Christmas time she gets no tree,
No wreath, and no Nativity.
She takes her ornaments and lights
And hangs them round the pot of white -
The John, the Head, the porcelain bank;
It glows and shines from base to tank.
It's not so bad until that time,
After turkey, cornbread, dumplings, wine;
When tummies rumble and sweat begins,
And supper travels from mouths to ends.
The wires they tangle, the bulbs they burst;
If you have to sit then it's the worst.
The garland itches, the stars do poke,
The toilet paper sparks and smokes.
It's filled with Egg Nog in the bowl,
Above it hangs the mistletoe.
Around the base the presents lie,
When flushed it plays "Oh Holy Night."
And if you must go number two,
Saint Nicholas yells "Ho Ho Pew!"
No comic strips or magazines,
So please lay off the pork and beans!
Each year I swear will be my last
At Aunt Lorain's Ol' Christmas bash.
