by David Frank
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 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, To the top of my limits, to the top of my worth, Then over 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, what are your plans 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!