The sister in law brought it on herself. That's what the woman told the police just after the fat one had placed his great mitt on top of her head and pushed her down into the back seat of the cruiser,
As if she were a prank snake being jammed back into its can.
The guests' faces are striped with red and blue, from the flashing gumball machines on the police cars, or from
Blood and apoplexy, who can say?
Santa bears have been knocked off the stairs and lay gaping on their backs in the front yard,
While the figures in the nativity scene appear pale and shocked.
The sister in law had been saying:
My Frank received a substantial bonus this year.
We're going snorkeling in the Azores.
Bobby was accepted at both Yale and Stanford.
We're all on diets.
Madison has decided on pre-med.
We're just busy busy busy! she'd added with a little chuckle and toss of her head, as if the cute charm of it all had invisibly nudged her slightly sideways.
The fat cop prompts:
So that was when you attacked her?
What weapon did you use?
A rolled-up Redbook. It had holiday cookies on the cover. They were supposed to depict each of the eight reindeer.
Yes. If you made twenty-four cookies, there would be three of each reindeer.
The cop writes this down, then says,
That sounds more like Good Housekeeping than Redbook.
I want a lawyer, says the woman. Then she clams up.
Christmas is over.
Ornaments and lives have been destroyed.
The Santa bears are not washable.