R. Doug Wicker — Author

Now time for a repeat of a little Christmas humor (tune in tomorrow for the sequel on the subsequent murder investigation, written in the style of Mickey Spillane):

A Poe Christmas

Once upon a snowstorm dreary, through which I trudged all weak and weary,
Past many a quaint and curious number of advertisement lore
I saw the ad, above some wrapping; on the door I started tapping
At first it was a gentle tapping, tapping at the storefront door
I must gain entry to this store, as there was nothing then I wanted more

Searching for this and nothing more

The toy was here for which I search, leaving me in quite a lurch
Having waited far too long to shop for “The Super Fly-A-Saur”
Eagerly I watched the clerk, beckoning me not to shirk
I quickly entered, nearly berserk; “I must have it,” I said with a smirk
“Where, oh where, be that damned flying dinosaur?”

Quoth the clerk, “The second floor”

Up the escalator I ran, fighting against its downward span
I cursed its descending stairs as I glanced to the ascending flight before
Casually the clerk began her ascent, chuckling at my predicament
“I fear, sir, you shall be spent, before you reach the next department”
I ran, and ran, for far too long, fighting against this tiresome chore

Vowing “Not up the down escalator evermore”

I stopped, bent over double, breathing hard for all my trouble
Crying out with all my might, “Where is this cursed Fly-A-Saur?”
She smiled that stupid service smile, the one that sends me shaking
“Tis over here,” she said, “Right behind that great big door”
“Tis over there, I swear, or my name is not Lenore

“Tis what you seek and nothing more”

I pushed the double doors apart, what I saw gave me a start
“There’s nothing here, I’ve been tricked, where is this hellish dinosaur?”
She smirked again, mocking me, sending me quaking
I felt rage in the making, “Tis right there,” said this shrewish bore
“You see, we’re all out at this store; here’s your rain check, nothing more”

Thus I strangled the fair Lenore