The Festive Punch
© 2017 Mollie Pearce McKibbon

It is my solemn duty,
Perhaps you have a hunch –
To guard the buffet table
Lest Grandpa spikes the punch.

Now, I have my eyes upon him
Though he thinks he’ll call my bluff,
But when he saunters near me
I’ll confiscate the stuff.

Last year it was a shambles;
Our Christmas wasn’t fun,
The punch was 50/50
Apple cider – moonshine rum.

Uncle Ed began addressing
The stuffed muskie in the hall
And Aunt Hilda started swatting
Invisible spiders on the wall.

Cousin Sam was jitterbugging
With the hat-tree in a twirl,
And Papa kept insisting
Father Patrick was a girl.

My mom was apoplectic
And my sister was in tears.
When our pup set up such howling
I had to plug my ears.

So this Christmas’ll be different,
Of that you can be sure,
‘Cause Mom’s paying me a fiver
To keep the punch secure.