Five hours in line, in snow, cold, and slush;

The people they stood, all perfectly hushed;

To them is familiar this Holiday rush.

The end of the line, three miles back to the eye,

Holds slackers arriving, all stuffed up with pie.

Murmuring started, with one hour to go;

It grew and it grew until suddenly a blow.

Our hero, Sir Bob, five hours in line,

Shrank back as a fight broke out with calls, “mine!”

His cowardice showed, and he did tremble

To watch as the line began to disassemble.

Eager and selfish, these people they seemed,

As they bunched up close to the doors that gleamed,

Pounding and yelling and all in a fright,

Afraid their purchase would end in a fight.

Sir Bob stood quite still, in shock and in fear,

Appalled his wife would send him shopping here,

When she was the one with the self-defense training

And the will to fight for that doll and its singing.

Time passed slowly, and the crowd pushed Sir Bob,

Jostling him so he began to sob,

‘Till he stood at the gates of shopping heaven.

Inside he could see, where great number seven,

Sat beside ninety-nine, all above

The surround sound speaker set — his one true love.

Sir Bob’s heart pounded as he looked inside,

Searching for deals his wife no longer could hide.

He found a great many, and looked on them all:

A flat screen TV, all packed up in red,

A luxury pillow that conforms to your head,

Made of real down feathers and true sheep wool.

Sir Bob looked on and he started to drool.

Mountains of Xboxes, all ready to go,

Packed in their boxes of Holiday show.

Thousand dollar laptops marked down to one-fifty.

And Bob began to feel quite thrifty.

Lots of Barbie dolls for his daughter Jane,

Some LEGO sets for his son named Shane,

Giant teddy bears for their sister Pam,

And the brand new game for their brother Sam!

And his eyes fell upon those things for his wife:

The flawless and perfect-cutting kitchen knife,

A heating pad that matched her best jammies,

That got hot up until a full ninety degrees.

The new book that could surely teach her how

To form her makeup and to shape her brow.

That spatula for her cousin, the ball

For his kid, the tool kit Bob saw at the mall

For his father, and that plate for his mother.

And that jacket would look good on his brother.

The people pressed closer, and Bob did as well,

Eager for doors, and all to fall to hell,

As the clock keeps on ticking — 5 minutes more —

5 minutes till four, 5 minutes till four.

The people are yelling, and calling dibs,

Pushing more forward and elbowing ribs,

Knowing their eyes aren’t the only ones

Looking upon those shiny chrome iPhones.

Finally time, at just four PM,

The doors creek on open, and they all fall in.

Bob keeps his eyes on his surround sound system,

Falling upon one but finding a problem.

Another person set their grubby fingers

All over his love this person claimed to be hers.

But Bob knew how to run, so he ducked under,

Taking the box and claiming his plunder.

He was victorious, but now remembered

Why his wife sent him, and let fly a cussword.

Bob, undefeated, plowed through the store.

He elbowed the parents and shoved them over,

He plowed over their children and their friends,

He knew where to go and to what ends

He would be willing to go to find that doll,

The one doll that sings and eats and cries,

The doll for his daughter and her pleading eyes.

He traversed the mountains of spilled socks,

And crossed the river of stuffed peacocks.

He made it, finally, to the aisles of toys,

And stepped inside to find girls and boys,

Small people, just children, swarming his aisles.

He stepped over them all bunched up in piles,

For he’d found his doll — that one’s for himself,

The only one left upon the shelf.

He dove at the doll, his hand closed around,

And lifted it up to shout victory sounds,

But a child’s hand was clasped about it,

Holding it tight in a childish fit.

Bob fought the child, lashing out violently,

Determined to take the doll as a trophy.

He reached out for something to help him,

For this child held on and would not relent him.

His hand found weapon, a purple foam duck.

He swung it and hit the kid, only with luck.

The child let go, and Bob turned around.

He left and fought the crowds with what he had found,

The doll for which his wife had sent him.

He took his doll and surround sound system,

And battled the lines to the check out counter.

He paid with money, and dodged a latecomer,

And made it home in time to eat dinner.

He was welcomed home as a hero.

Brave and strong, he fought for his stereo.

Sir Bob, at home once more, looked out over

His family who had sent him hither,

And he thought to himself, standing right here,

“I think I’ll do this again next year.”