A Freelancer's Christmas Eve
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring except for a mouse
Enthralled by a freelancer glued to her chair
On deadline, dejected and filled with despair.
The publishers offices, empty of editors,
Partied at noon, unworried by creditors,
While the owner, uncaring, was named King of Predators.
The freelancer cried at her terrible plight,
The words had stopped flowing, she faced a long night,
When up on the roof there arose such a clatter,
She rose from her chair to see what was the matter.
When what to her wondering eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.
With a guy at the helm in a cool velvet suit
With an armload of books and computer to boot.
He downloaded everything, then with a grin,
Said, Enter a contest and surely you'll win!
The reindeer ascended, the sleigh pierced the night
Until all the visitors were out of sight.
But the writer was Scrooged, doubly so as shed signed
A contract so heinous her colleagues all whined.
So even with Santa and all of her wits,
She decided a freelancer's life is the pits.
© 2008 Barbara Florio Graham www.SimonTeakettle.com
This poem won First Prize in the Ottawa Independent Writers' annual Christmas contest