‘Twas the Day After Thanksgiving: A Poem

In about a week, we will celebrating everyone’s favorite day of encouraged gluttony: Thanksgiving! This was long the holiday that could not be commercialized, because nothing could be bought except food, and the activities for the day include eating, spending time with family and friends, and perhaps watching some football. In recent years, though, the actual day of Thanksgiving has been pushed aside, as merely the precursor to a day of insanity and lunacy: Black Friday. Sure, it used to be charming; waking up early and going to hunt bargains, but now, it has become madness, which has seen people literally being trampled to death in stores by nut jobs with shopping carts. This is yet another great day of traditions being destroyed in this country, in the name of the Almighty Dollar, and there is really nothing we can do to stop it. As I always say, “Sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying”, so I offer up this poem to you in order to help celebrate these two great days of destruction. I hope you enjoy!

‘Twas the day after Thanksgiving, it has come at last
The memories of yesterday’s feast, they are all in the past
Getting up at midnight to do your shopping
The blood vessels in your eyes are sure to be popping

The turkey you ate, it has not even been digested
And you know hundreds of morons will soon be arrested
Rush your family out of the house, you need to get your rest
Will you become immersed in Black Friday madness, the ultimate test?

Who really cares about Thanksgiving, it’s just an ordinary day
The pilgrims who we celebrate, they were murderers anyway
So come on, get your wallet, and fill it with cash
5 a.m shopping at Wal-Mart is going to be a bash!

When you cannot buy your favorite items, you are filled with sorrow
You’re too dumb to realize, they’ll be there tomorrow
You lash out at the cashier, you attack your loved ones
A barbarian you look like, even to Attila and his Huns

Running through the store you go, a maniac with a cart
Like a killer you pounce, with a black hole for a heart
In the sporting goods section, someone was strangled with a fishing net
Hey, it beats getting run over by a shopping cart in Target

Every store offers such great discounts
In hospitals and trauma centers, the number of wounded amounts
People just don’t understand, this is the American way
Destroy all that you want, just make sure that you pay

The stores open so early, they call it “Moonlight Madness”
The crazed psycho shoppers fill me with sadness
Trampled to death someone will be
As they always are, by a 400 pound woman who has a bum knee

When you get to the checkout line, you realize the store told a lie
Remember when you came through the turnstiles wondering if you were going to die?
But you don’t care, you got what you came for
Just make sure to get dad’s gift at the discount liquor store

The Macy’s Parade, you had watched it the day before
When all you wanted to do was shop, my, what a bore!
You come home late at night, and watch the news reports of all the shoppers that died
But you got your child the latest toy, and are more than satisfied

Pretty soon, it will be the Christmas season
We have to call it the “Holidays”, for a non-offensive reason
A month later, the stockings will be hung by the chimney with care
As I hope the apocalypse soon will be there


3 thoughts on “‘Twas the Day After Thanksgiving: A Poem

  1. Pingback: Happy Thanksgiving 2011 from FNYTSF! « From New York to San Francisco

  2. Pingback: ‘Twas the Day After Thanksgiving: A Poem | silver birch press

  3. Pingback: ‘Twas the Day After Thanksgiving, poem by Greg Caggiano | silver birch press

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.