A Thanksgiving poem
‘Twas the night of Thanksgiving and all through the house
Buttons were popping and belts loosened, even Aunt Mary untucked her blouse.
Bellies were bulging and most men were snoring, while women prepared for Black Friday storing.
The eleventh hour rang and out the door they did bustle, arriving to line up for the best prices they cold hustle.
The doors sprang open to elbows and shoving, people fighting over stuff, for those they are loving.
Returning later that day, they brag to each other how little they paid.
The men pay no notice with football on TV, the women reflect how lucky they be.
On Visa, on Discover, on MasterCard and Chase, ‘Tis the season for soaking your customer base.