tis the season

finally,
after hours
of hard shopping,
you are done.
everything on your
list is crossed
off and bought.
you arrive home
right as the snow
begins to fall
and the traffic
thickens.
you put some music
on, a little bing,
a little frank,
some andy williams.
why not,
who would know
that you like
their music. it's
your secret.
you doctor
up in a large tumbler
an eggnog
with some rum,
you put on your
cotton pj's
and slippers,
then let out
a happy but
exhausted sigh.
the gifts
are on the table
ready to be wrapped.
the boxes
are there, the scissors,
the name tags
the ribbons, a few
of those sticky
bows for some,
but, but....
there's no tape.
no freaking scotch
tape. you let
out a primal scream
that makes
your neighbor bang
on the wall
and sends the dog
scurrying under
the bed.