Sixteen Into Seventeen

Let the bad old year
Ride the scapegoat out of town
New sins on the way

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Mulligannum

The end, I’m glad to say, is nigh.
We’ll bid this baleful year goodbye
Tomorrow midnight, not a minute
Sooner than we should have. When it
Started, all we had to fear
Was typical election-year
Insanity (or so we thought).
These past twelve months have surely taught
Us that reality surpasses
All the wildest, from-our-asses-
Pulled, dystopic fever dreams
That we could conjure. If it seems
Two thousand sixteen can’t be topped
For awfulness, and that we’ve stopped
Exsanguinating, don’t forget
Herr Trump’s not in the White House yet.
’16 sucked, but here we stand!
Let’s hope that next year goes as planned.

Bird Hat

I have a hat that’s overrun
With birds, which sounds like lots of fun
Unless you have a phobia
Of screaming birds all over ya’,
In which case this is not the topper
For which you should opt: Show-stopper.
If you’d like to try it, though,
And don’t mind bird-poo, Go, Dog, Go!
“I like that hat,” Boy Dog will cry,
“I like that birdy hat!” Though why
Girl Dog should care a flipping whit
About what he thinks, I don’t git.
My point, non-P.D. Eastman nerds,
Is this: I’ve got a hat with birds.

Holiday Ritual

Do a thing one time, or two,
It’s something that you sometimes do
(Or did) and may not do again.
It’s lifted to tradition when
The doing’s done to consecrate
An action, milestone or date
And, henceforth, if the thing’s not done
The celebration’s much less fun
And one can’t help but heave a sigh
Of disappointment, which is why,
Like last year and the ten before, we
Plop and watch A Christmas Story,
Sated on take-out Chinese.
Pass your fake teeth forward, please.