Thursday, December 25, 2014

‘Twas the Night Before The Walking Dead Christmas (A Shitmas Poem by Russell Hackett!)


‘Twas the Night Before The Walking Dead Christmas
By Russell Hackett

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the safe house 
Not a Walker was stirring, not even a louse. 
Dingy backpacks hung, drying in the cold Atlanta air
Knowing that soon, full morning would be there

Our heroes gathered ‘round a fire so trite
With visions of Washington, dancing in their sight
Now with poor Bob and Beth all laid to rest
What is left of the crew would make do with their best

Suddenly outside a shake, crack and tumble,
Rick sprang into action to inspect the unearthly rumble
Towards the wooden barriers he darted with fright
However, through tiny slits, he saw a rare sight

It was not possible, only a dream
None would believe, or though it did seem
For out in the night, on blood-stained streets
Was the sight of all sights, on ice lying in sheets

Not to be mistaken, ‘twas a fat walker in red
Leading a sleigh of nine reindeer, all tied and long dead
In the back of the wagon was a bag up for keeps
Bursting at the seams, its fill was so deep

With a rallying of troops, overheard was this call:

"Now Maggie! Now Michonne!
Now, Tyreese and Daryl Dixon!
On, Glenn! On, Sasha!
Wake the hell up and listen!
On, down the hall!
Prepare arms, to the wall!

With footfalls so light
They tiptoed through the night
Not a sound was made, nor a single word said
For soon, it came, the jolly fat man did lose his head

The bag was brought home and the door sealed with might
All sat around, stomachs churning with delight
Many wrapped packages they all spilled out
Each with a name, inscribed boldly about
A note slipped free
With a list for all to see:

For you, fair Judith, a pacifier, to keep quieter
Master Carl, a lifter for height, so you will feel right.
To Rick, the bold, new bullets for that pistol you so dearly hold
To the wise Eugene, ‘tis a Flowbee I bring.
To Carol, the meek, the peace of mind you do seek
To Tyreese, of moral laws, a new set of balls
To Abraham, the strong, a brain to tote along
To Michonne, the brave, a new set of slaves
Rosita, the loose, a cushion to rest your caboose
And to Daryl, the slick, processed squirrels to keep from getting sick

The note ended with a signature scrawl
Prefaced with words of sweet tidings to all,
To stay warm and sleep tight
May you live to see another night!


Jolly Old St. Nick




(Terry Lea through www.flickr.com)

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