Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
Everyone was waiting to see if the smart oven would come on,
and people were hungry and anxious, hoping the turkey would be done.
However, the look on the face of the master cook was gloom,
so the hunger and anxiety continued to be true.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
A red and white car had pulled up in the driveway.
The Domino's Pizza man threw open his door,
much to the surprise of everyone standing on the floor.
He ran to the door with three pizzas in hand
and rang the doorbell with a sound like a school band.
His eyes—how they twinkled, his dimples how merry.
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.
Away to the door I flew like a flash,
tore it open and smiled like I was on hash.
Only to find he had the wrong address.
I offered him a $100 tip if he pretended he was lost.
And the night was saved, however at a high cost.
At least they got to eat something.