Sorting Wrapped Gifts on a Snowy Evening

Whose gift this is I do not know I wrapped it seven days ago. There’s no distinctive marking here Except this festive store-bought bow.

The box’s shape is kind of queer Two lumpy mounds like a brassiere But feels like wood or frozen cake; Don’t ever wrap while drinking beer.

I give the gift-wrapped box a shake And know I’ve made a huge mistake. Who gets this gift will have to sweep; I’m pretty sure I heard it break.

The checkout lines are long and deep But I must shop before I sleep, Though malls at Christmas make me weep, Though malls at Christmas make me weep.