Two Days Left

David Simmonds

Just two days till Christmas

In the place where folks are told

It's the coolest spot when the weather's hot

And the hottest when it's cold

 

Excited kids are cautioned

Be good for goodness' sake

Or you'll finish out your childhood

In Wellington on the Lake

 

But they're on their best behaviour

Because they know when Santa's stuck

He entrusts his key deliveries

To a yellow hardware truck

 

Each Wednesday it's a cetainty

The truck will reappear

And today's its final visit

Till that best day of the year

 

Staffers pace the pavement

Restrain the swelling crowd

They've set out orange pylons

And the street's been freshly plowed

 

Then someone yells "I see it!"

And the yellow truck pullls in

The crowd breaks out in wild applause

And the staff relax and grin

 

Meanwhile only doors away

The Times has hit the street

To shouts of 'hallelujah

My life is now complete'

 

The truck is slowly emptied

Folks jostle for a look

Did he bring that saw for grandma?

Has he got dad's three inch hook?

 

There's roofing nails for sister

Some duct tape for my mum

A pitchfork for my cousins

But I'm the one who's glum

 

No trace of licorice allsorts

Head office dropped the ball

No boxes on the store shelves

In the warehouse - none at all

 

The shortage is an outrage

No ifs or ands or buts

But I suck it up and purchase

A tin of roasted nuts

 

And I offer a suggestion

For a novel retail plan

Why not chocolate covered drillbits

Or screws in marzipan?

 

As the door is slameed behind me,

My thinking turns more clear

And I begin to contemplate

My wishes for next year

 

An arena and new welcome signs

Will surely come to pass

But what I wissh for most of all

Is a place to pump some gas

 

So I call up Peter Mertens

Our man at city hall

And he says, while he's not certain

It just may come by fall

 

So let's celebrate in confidence

What's wished for will unfold

In the coolest spot when the weather's hot

And the hottest when it's cold.


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David Simmonds, by nurture, is a lawyer. By nature, he is a perceptive writer, with a gimlet eye; a superb folk singer, lyricist and composer. Simmonds believes quirkiness is universal. This is his focus and the base of his creativity. His goal is to create gentle humour, in word and song. “If my humour hurts,” he says, “it's after the stiletto comes out.” Simmonds is an urban satirist on par with Mike Barnacle, Jimmy Breslin and the late Mike Rokyo. He writes from and often about the village of Wellington Ontario. Simmonds also writes for the Wellington "Times."

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