[Michael Cantor]

Tum-ta-tum-tum-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 the mall with every strum
and echo like a film of honeyed scum.
It cloaks and gums the jam-packed 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 of it, I shouldn’t be so glum
when I can have another sugar-plum -
hey, hon’ –a double one please, for my chum –
parum pum pum pum, he and his drum.