Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the land

Many people were saying, it's not what we planned;

The bank bags were stuffed with obscene market share,

In hopes that the Brink's truck soon would be there;

Shareholders were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of dollar-signs danced in their heads;

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for our Christmas Eve nap,

When up in my dreams there arose such a clatter

I sank further in to see what was the matter.

I sank like a stone through hot embers and ash,

And fell in a heap on a big pile of cash.

Fierce sparks in their quest to set something aglow

Gave the lustre of hell-heat encircling this dough,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

Here to lead us astray, twas an ace puppeteer.

He was pulling the strings so lively and quick,

It took me a moment to shake off his trick.

More rapid than eagles, his followers they came,

And he whistled and shouted, and called them by name;

Now, Penny's! now, Macy's! now, Nordstrom and Saks!

On, Wal Mart! on, Costco, and on, T J Maxx!

To Bed, Bath, and Beyond! to the fat outlet mall!

They'll dash away! dash away! throw cash away all!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, they'll go ahead and buy.

So back to their houses the consumers they flew,

With a pocket full of debt, and an albatross too.

And then, with an inkling, I woke to my fate,

Financing, withdrawing, to score a rebate;

As these weeks before Christmas were churning around,

A new realization began to gain ground.

It was dressed all in sense, and logic, and reason,

But its shimmer was tarnished by greed in the season;

This song with much poise that's being sung in my head,

Wants me to believe that my old ways are dead.

My eyes -- how they opened! My nimble thoughts blurred!

A bourgeoisie hype that sustains the absurd!

Their droll little pretense all wrapped with a bow,

Deeds black as the night-gloom; words white as the snow;

Is it better to hide all my lust underneath?

Is it better to talk up my token bequeath?

Will my broad sweeping gestures disguise that I'm greedy?

Will the depth of my discourse persuade the unneedy?

Pipe dreams chubby and plump from that fiendish old elf;

That dream puppeteer - so proud of himself.

A marketing hypnotist, pulling the strings;

Casting his spell so we'll buy all his things.

He can speak not a word and let us do his work,

We'll fill all our stockings and turn with a smirk,

Accepting the fable that with each year grows,

We 'Need' all this stuff, the new toys and new clothes;

Festive Joy once-a-year doesn't seem too sincere,

But the real Santa Claus is an ace puppeteer;

A charming diviner who laughs with delight,

"HAPPY SPENDING TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT."