by Alan Meiss
I must express my gratitude
for such a lovely gift.
Your thoughtfulness and taste is matched
only by your thrift.
It’s clear that you spared all expense,
if you catch my drift.
Remove the anti-theft device
when you again shoplift.
We’re sorry you now mourn the loss
of your beloved cat.
For if we had only braked in time,
it wouldn’t be so flat.
It’s Christmas time, and once again,
the family’s gathered ’round.
Uncles, aunts, and cousins come
to raise a joyful sound.
All that is, except for you,
whom we can only send this mail.
But we’ll save your gifts for fifty years
till you get out of jail.
The frost is on the meadow,
the dew upon the grass.
Here’s your stinking birthday card,
now shove it up your *ahem*.
I’ve tender thoughts and memories
of the special time we shared.
I’d never been so close to you,
for it was more than souls we bared.
But I’ve since come to have regrets
and wonder if we erred,
For now the sores have failed to heal,
and I’m getting really scared.
This Christmas time I give to you
a book that isn’t mine.
So give it back before it’s due
or I’ll have to pay a fine.
Golden fields of daffodils,
sparkling mountain streams,
Crisp clean air and cotton clouds,
vistas from our dreams.
But all throughout our lovely trip,
to thoughts of you we’ve clung,
Because you’ll never see these things
in your iron lung.