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Twas The Day After ChristmasTwas The Day After Christmas
By Megan Jones
Come, gather round, for Ive a story to tell,
About the day after Christmas and the things stores want to sell.
Twas the day after Christmas, when all through the town,
Everybody was rushing, all store-ward bound.
For even though they had just gotten gifts galore,
All they could think of was more, more, more.
The children were angry, cross-armed in the back seat,
While their little eyes welled up with tears of defeat.
For they had planned on playing with their new toys and blocks,
But wound up going to the store for a sale on socks.
Out from their cars, a myriad of people did dash,
Eager to spend more of their hard-earned cash.
All of them armed with assorted coffees in hand,
In the stores, there was barely a place left to stand.
People not content with their gifts under the tree,
To the return lines, they all did flee.
It was clear that pandemonium spread throughout the store,
As dozens more people streamed in through the door.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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