Tum-ta-tum-ta-tum-parum-pum-pum-pum
December’s here and I can hear the thrum
of that obnoxious kid; the dumb-dumb-dumb
and droning, chirping, moaning hum of hum-
bug sweetness fills a mall with every strum
and echo like a film of honeyed scum
on ponds. It cloaks and gums the shopping slum,
reverberates inside each tympanum,
until I think my ears and mind are numb.
But, hey, these nifty, complementary rum-
laced egg-nog thingies go down well; and come
to think on it, I shouldn't be so glum
if I can glom another sugar-plum -
hey, hon’ –a double one please, for my chum –
parum pum pum pum,
.............................. he and his drum.
[This message has been edited by Michael Cantor (edited December 13, 2007).]
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