T'was the morn' before Christmas-- Dog, R.L.

'Twas the morn' before Christmas, and all through USPS,

Not a package was moving.  I hope you used Fedex!

The bins were all stuffed in the depots without care,

In the hopes that someone else would sort them whene'er.

The children were nestled with their phones in their beds,

While visions of tracking updates danced in their heads.

And mamma and poppa, both drunk off their ass,

Knowing they've got nothing, cuz' USPS is taking a long winter nap!

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed, to see if it was a carrier.

Away from the window, he flew like a flash,

To avoid any questions, about where my stuff's at.

The moon that he flashed me reflected in the snow,

There was no other lustre, because this Christmas blows!

Then, what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But an Amazon truck, because Bezos says, never fear!

With a little old driver, overworked and abused,

At least something is here, so USPS, fuck you!

He coughed and he wheezed, and maybe he was sick,

But maybe he was just worn to the bone by Bezos, that dick.

Gimme my presents, but don't get too close!

Oh yeah, he said?  Completely morose.

Do you want your presents?  'Cuz I can take 'em away,

Or give 'em to USPS, and then imagine your day!

No!  I said, anything but that!

USPS is what out I shat!  [Sorry.  I'll wrap this up.  Get it?]

Christmas will come, and Christmas will go,

But what of your packages, no one shall know.

You know, when Hollywood directors want to disown a movie, they attribute it to "Alan Smithee," as David Lynch did with that 1980s Dune adaptation.  My pen name for bad poetry shall be "Rufus Lorenzo Dog."  I apologize for the lack of coherent meter.  In penance, here are The Meters.