And he sits on Santa’s plump lap
nodding “… football, yes.” “Oh crap!”
Ralphie realizes, climbing slide
with hopes to override
one unthinking moment’s misspeak
that could nip his Noel joy.
“Red Ryder” he’ll implore
but Santa’ll hear no more
of his wangling conversation
and just boots him down the slide
and ignores his anguished cries ...

And tho’ Mom’s said “What’cha thinkin’, Son?
“Red Ryder your eye’d cost!”
and Old Lady Shields with looks darker
than coal has cruelly tossed
his theme back, where she’d written
“You would shoot your eye out with one!”
in happiness sublime
Christmas morning he says “I’m
glad my wangling conversations
for this shooter and supplies
have afforded me the prize …”

For his dad’s ignored Mom’s natter
and remembered how “Ol’ Red”
was a fav’rite of his own child-
hood and he’s not blind or dead.
So long Ralphie has crusaded,
and he now begs “Mom and Dad! Oh!
I can’t wait to try my hand!”
Mom cries “Danger!” but then soon he,
after wangling conversation,
with his shooter fisted hies
to the porch and shoots out eye …