A direct-mail twist on a holiday classic.
By Jim Hussey

’Twas the week before Christmas, and out front of the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The mailbox hung by the front door with care,

Anticipating that a deluge soon would be there.

My wife was watching “Oprah,” our dog in her lap,

And I had just settled down for my afternoon nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my La-Z-Boy to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore back the curtains and threw open the sash.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a parked, white minivan; maybe a repairman from Sears?

With a tired-looking driver, red-faced and obviously ticked,

From his disposition, I knew it wasn’t St. Nick.

Dragging a heavy gray bag, he slowly came,

And he cursed and he shouted, and he called them by name:

“Oh, American Cancer! Oh, World Vision! Oh, St. Jude!

Oh, the soup kitchens! And all of the other charities, too!

My bag is so full, it’s as high as I am tall.

Oh darn them! Darn them! Darn them all!”

So up to the porch he slowly stewed,

With a mailbag full of fundraising letters, and a few bills, too.

His back was aching, bent down to a bow,

But he was keeping his promise to deliver even in snow.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled up my mailbox, then turned with a jerk.

Trudged back to his van, and slumped into his seat,

Away he drove, another load of mail to meet.

But I heard him exclaim, as he made a hard right,

“Will the new year ever come? There's no end in sight!”

Happy Holidays All!