By Mark David Blum, Esq.

Oh, Christmas Tree ... How I Hate Thee

As I came in the door I was grabbed by my ear
She said, get your shit together, grab up your gear

"We are off today to get us our tree."
"Bring it home to satisfy me"

So off we hunted until there was the perfect one
Thank goodness I got it with the first shot of my gun

Or should I say saw, and saw it some more
This damned xmas tree hunting is a total bore of a chore

But anything for my Shiksa, my passion, my bride
So I lugged that damn tree in and set it up properly inside.

I struggled and muggled and fuggled with lights
As I rammed each strand up between that tree’s thighs

Thank goodness for long sleeves as the tree fought back
With sap and sharp needles, it was on the attack

But I am the better one, stronger than he
And I finished my job setting up that damn tree

Then it came time for his Jew to step aside
And leave the Christmas decorating to the Catholic bride

She opened boxes, and bags, and containers galore
Enough bobbles and trinkets; the tree looks like a whore

Hours she spent to the tunes of the season
Hanging and decorating at her own rhyme and reason

Eventually it was done, the tree all prettied up
Thank goodness we have no cats or a pup

Topped with its angel to the bottom’s fake snow
My Mrs. basked in the glory of her tree’s warm glow

The evening wore on, the lights were down dim
Just to enjoy the labors and whim

Me, I meandered into another room to sleep
Bored out of my mind. Another Christmas. They can keep.

After a few hours of snoring so loud
Dreaming of applause from an appreciative crowd

I woke up dry mouthed seeking to quench my strong thirst
Before I could drink, I saw the sullen face first

I turned and there it was laying flat on its side
That damned stinkin tree surrendered and died

She told of three times she tried to get it to stand
And three times she failed. Couldn’t give it a hand.

So there it was dead. Dark and ugly on the floor
I was so ready to throw its ass out the door.

But here I am early in the wee hours of the morn
Doing what I must. Restanding the tree to adorn

Yes I fixed that damn tree. It stands sturdy as a rock
It shall stand watch over Christmas and give joy ‘round the clock

or it shall burn.