Black Friday comes but once a year
It sets the world upon its ear.
Sane people leave their home before
The dawning sun has yet drawn near.
Thanksgiving’s but a passing chore
A sacrifice to gods of more.
Windshields cleared of winter’s frost
We must be early to the store.
Employees tired and acting sauced
Cranky at the sleep they’ve lost,
Dream of running from their post
To flee from shoppers that accost.
Snaking lines from coast to coast
The winner buying up the most
The savings clearly worth the woe
Thanksgiving giving up the ghost.
Black Friday is Thanksgiving’s foe,
And so their armies each shall grow.
Visions of peace then let us show:
Both sides under the mistletoe
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