Except for the snow storm providing a chill.
Another two feet, Tom the weatherman said,
We yawned, “That is nothing,” and just went to bed.
The power had gone out a long time ago,
And the stove in the corner was barely aglow.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
With parkas and gloves and hats on their heads.
The wife and I cuddled to keep ourselves warm,
Sometimes to get lucky, you do need a storm.
Then out on the lawn, we heard a loud “Ow!”
I knew someone must have tripped over the plow.
To the window I flew to catch the booger,
But not before grabbing my trusted old Ruger.
The moon on the snow gave me plenty of light
So I aimed for the head—but oh, what a sight!
The thug wore a snowsuit colored all red
He brazenly stood in the wife’s flower bed.
And around him grazed a whole herd of deer,
By golly, what were they doing here?
‘T was fine with me, though, since for some reason
I hadn’t caught one during season.
Number one! Number two! Number three, bang, bang, bang!
“Hooray,” I shouted, “I nailed the whole gang!”
Now the snow was all red; so much meat for the freezer,
And just to be certain, I offed the old geezer.
I woke up the wife and showed her my prize,
She barely could believe her eyes.
We gutted and skinned the whole herd right there,
And I bet the old guy had been wanted somewhere.
“Eight deer,” we cheered when we turned off the light,
“Merry Christmas to us—now let’s call it a night.”
© Shannara Johnson, 2015