had an elf on my ass for days
checking numbers, in a number of ways
the vicky, the maggie, the vera, the jen
demanding the where, the how, and the when

"it's just procedure, you understand"
scribbling notes with his small hairy hand
texting his boss the stats and the odds
strangling a cellphone with quick little nods

"i'm afraid this year you've been especially bad.
you ran, you cheated, you failed your dad"
and with that, the midget closed the book
ignoring my pleas for another look

despite the beer being cold
there was no way around growing old
i promised i can change, i can learn,
but i knew next year he wouldn't return