by J. A. Titus
It was the night before Christmas and little children slumbered,
Not knowing or caring, about the gun shots that thundered.
“Get over here, you bitch,” he called out with a cry.
“Don’t make me hit you; you don’t need to ask why.”
She raised her hands up, afraid for her life.
She knew she didn’t need this, didn’t need all this strife.
“Please, please, think of the children!” she wanted to plead.
“Without their mother, what kind of life could they lead?”
Shots rang out, so crystal, so clear;
Another bullet pierced through the grand chandelier.
“Put your hands down, you sneaky little tramp,”
“You didn’t think I’d catch you and your little camp.”
“I saw you that night, dressed to the nine.”
“I saw you that night, thinking everything was fine.”
“But no, no, you had to go behind my back,”
“And here I was thinking I needed to give you more slack.”
Her hands trembling in front of her face,
Tried in vain to hide her disgrace.
It was true, so true, everything he said.
She had gone behind his back, snuck out behind his head.
But it wasn’t what he was thinking, oh no, not indeed.
It wasn’t an affair; it wasn’t anything like that in the least.
Another shot, a bullet pierces into the wall,
Another shot and blasts down the hall.
“I’m so sick of this shit, so sick of your lies!”
“What more can I do, I just want to die?”
With one last shot, all fell to silence,
With one last shot, was an end to the violence.
As the blood poured down their faces in streams,
The world was awoken by little children’s screams.
To see their parents listless and dead on the floor,
They rushed forward in fear, towards the front door.
“But wait, just wait,” the youngest cried out in glee,
“Look, look, over at the Christmas tree!”
Sure enough, and to their surprise,
They stopped in their tracks, and opened their eyes wide,
“Santa has been here, there are presents for you and me!”
“Santa has been here, oh joyous occasion be!”
“But what about our parents over there on the floor?”
The oldest one said, feeling panicked once more.
“Oh, don’t worry about them; they got what they deserved,”
The youngest one piped, “they sure did have the nerve.”
“To sneak up so early and catch old St. Nick,”
“They wanted to sneak up on him and play an old trick.”
“But old St. Nick, he is crafty and knows,”
“He pulled out that shotgun and gave them both two blows!”