A Christmas Poem

‘Twas the fortnight before Christmas, when all through the house

A scream rang out, because I saw a louse

There it was crawling on dear Lilo’s head

So much for my plans for going to bed


The children were nestled in front of my chair

While I ran a tiny-toothed comb through their hair

Of course I also I found cooties on Stitch

Which made my head psychosomatically itch


With a trembling hand I beckoned the youngest

To see if the head bugs were rampant among us

I picked up the comb that had been boiled in hot water

And started to search on the scalp of my daughter


Thank God my baby girl had no lice

Even though I had checked her hair twice

Yet strong paranoia made my nerves chafe

Thus I doctored her too, just to be safe


Together I mixed up two potent oils

Both of them came from far distant soils

One was from olives, a slick cooking wonder

The other of tea tree, from that land down under


I had used this mix before with success

The only bad thing is the terrible mess

Resigned, I combed the oil into their locks

First Lilo, then Stitch, and finally in Spock’s


For more than hour they sat with hair sleaze

Watching their Christmas shows upon their DVDs

We each hoped that as we had patiently waited

All of the lice had asphyxiated


Then to the shower I hustled my crew

Where I scrubbed out the oil with tea tree shampoo

Then I fine-combed their sodden hair strands

Removing dead lice with my very own hands


Nothing was stirring any more in their tresses

So I told them to go and put on their night dresses

Sweet Babou had stripped and remade the beds

So there were clean linens for their weary heads


Although I will do the oil again to be sure

I am almost certain that their scalps are now pure

Nevertheless my job is not done

The mountains of laundry have only begun


Not only must every sheet get a good scrub

All of the towels also need the washtub

I must also clean every small girly coat

So we don’t end up back in this wretched boat


Now I go to my chores, but I give nary a whistle

I hate doing the laundry, I would rather eat thistle

So as I go take these good wishes from me

I hope that for Christmas you’re all safely lice free!

About Betty Fokker

I'm a stay-at-home feminist mom.
This entry was posted in daughters, motherhood. Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to A Christmas Poem

  1. Brilliant! I guess art borne of distress really is the best. ;) Hope the rest of your Christmas is much improved from this!

  2. I’m fairly sure we’re all louse-free but you’ve “made my head psychosomatically itch.”

  3. Dianne Wing says:

    I could not help but think what about YOU? With all that close contact, did you get them too?

  4. Robin says:

    Now how long did it take you to come up with that poem? I’m all over green in envy of your creative skills. Sending killing vibes to the nasty crawlies…

  5. Skye says:

    Like Robin, I am green with envy over your redo of The Night Before Christmas. Totally Epic! Hope the little bastards are all dead and smothered then drowned.

  6. You should definitely slam that poem! It’s awesome. Sorry about the bugs. Yikes.

  7. Braless Betty says:

    You. Are. Brilliant.

  8. lunarmom says:

    A holiday delight! (Except for the buggy head part.)

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