It’s a Christmas tradition as old as Saint Nick
Gather the children, bundle them thick
Everyone in the car with a rather swift kick
It is time for the ceremonial Christmas tree pick.
I have a niggling feeling, but I do not dwell
Despite early signs my plan’s going to hell
Smile for the camera, by the next darn clock bell
We will look like a portrait of Norman Rockwell.
I plaster a smile as Punch starts to bicker
Whiny is coughing, now he’s feeling sicker
Cranky is beaming, new hope starts to flicker
Then I see it’s a text, did those people bring liquor?
Straighten up now, gosh darn it, have fun I insist
Smell the pine, sip hot cocoa, iPhone urges resist,
If you’ll just not make waves, perhaps even assist
I can cross this darn trip off my Christmas blacklist.
“Punch pulled my hair, and then poked at my eyeball!”
Cranky fake-cries with a drama-queen pratfall
The dog’s off the leash and Whiny is AWOL
And I’m Chicken Little awaiting the sky fall.
Just pick out a tree, to love it is learnable
Spinning them round though no difference discernable
Assessing each one using language that’s questionable
In front of young families with children impressionable.
Finally I just choose one, a kindly dictator
Get the thing on the car before the hour gets later
We look cheery and buoyant to any spectator
At least that’s my impression and I’m the narrator.
So it’s done we got through it, it wasn’t all loathsome
The tree on the car roof, the family so handsome
We laugh as the dog hops in, sticky with balsam
Family Christmas tree shopping, it’s rather quite wholesome.