This is a true poem about Christmas morning, at least how I remember it growing up. Happy Holidays!
My parents, still sleeping, but I couldn’t stand it.
I jumped from the floor, on their mattress I landed.
They slowly awoke, and I ran to the tree
to see shiny wrapped presents there waiting for me.
But dad in the kitchen, just reading the news,
and mom making coffee. What was the snooze?
I think that they did as they smirked at each other,
my dad laughing softly, a wink from my mother.
I sat on the couch with a pout on my face
while bacon fried loudly, then eggs took its place.
They made me eat breakfast. They made me digest.
I waited and waited while they took a rest.
And just when I thought that my head would explode.
My parents stood up, and then I was told,
“When we were young kids we both had to wait
to open our gifts after we cleaned our plate.”
As I dug in those boxes with glee and delight
I was glad that they hadn’t waited ‘til night.
I decided right then not to stall my kids thrill,
‘though I’m sure, like my parents, I probably will.