Morning After Christmas – 2016

‘Twas the day after Christmas, and there’s no doubt of it;
Using words like ‘twas, makes me sound like a ‘twit.
But that’s not the point, so let me get back to my tale
While I knock back a few pints of breakfast blend ale.
The children had been nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of UFO 3000 Toy Quadcopters with ultra-bright L.E.D. lights that fly in the dark, do 3-D flips and stunts, and include a bonus battery—danced in their heads.
But that morning no toys were seen under the tree;
The tree itself was buried under loads of debris.
Things might have been fine if I had just stayed in bed;
And not answered a midnight noise at the door instead.
See, the wife and I had just nodded off in peaceful slumber;
She was snoring quietly, and I was sawing the lumber.
When down on the porch there came such a knocking,
I threw my pants on backwards and started moon-walking.
Away to the front door I went nearly fit to be tied,
I reached for the knob and threw the door open wide.
On the porch stood an old coot in a suit and a beard,
He was huffin’ and puffin’ and seemed somewhat weird.
But his face was kindly and he looked quite sensitive,
I figured he might be a drunk Mary Kay representative.
But the red garish wardrobe and belly so thick,
Told me this sweaty old dude was probably Saint Nick.
He was large, quite messed up and looked like a wreck,
If he were green and shaven—you’d have sworn he was Shrek.
He spoke and he muttered, “Sorry to be such a pest;
But would you mind if I came in and took a short rest?
I’m worn and I’m beat—sick and tired of the sled.”
He came in and plopped on my Sleep Number Bed.
He moved scarcely a muscle, was mostly inertia,
A bit reminiscent of that drill called Big Bertha.
He asked for a stiff drink—he was clearly in need;
But I was all out of booze—so he settled for weed.
Nick explained that the sleigh ride had him so pooped,
He had decided to land the thing near my front stoop (ped.)
He said the elves had basically been no help at all,
Since they’d all unionized sometime early last fall.
He said, “They got heady with their new found power;
Demanding a minimum of 15 cookies an hour.
So I was forced to head out tonight on my own;
I’ve delivered mostly by sleigh, partly by drone.
But lately I’ve discovered that I’m in open defiance;
And am apparently not in full city compliance.
For it seems in order to stay in Seattle’s good favor,
My plastic toy sack now must be cloth or paper.”
I felt bad for the guy; he looked so stressed out;
He quite wearily said, “Would you finish my route?”
At first I said, “No—I simply don’t have the knowledge.
I even flunked political science at the electoral college.”
He said, “Look, this local area is my last stop tonight;
Just six houses left on this long Christmas eve flight.”
He begged me to take over, but not to be reckless;
“I’m desperate or I wouldn’t ask someone so feckless.”
I didn’t know what feckless meant and I started to frown,
But then relented and said, “I won’t let you down.”
I went to the sleigh and started cracking the whip;
Donner said, “Knock that crap off ‘less you want a fat lip.”
Then the craft lifted off so swift, smooth and super,
It looked like a deer-powered flying sleigh Uber.
I made the first delivery—down the chimney I went;
But the burn ban had been lifted—so back up I went.
Then, when wrapping things up and heading right back,
I took an awkward sharp turn, the sleigh started to tack.
We were whirling quite wildly, beginning to veer,
Just me, the sleigh—and eight screaming reindeer.
Flying right over Seattle we all began to fall;
Rudolph broke loose and stuck to the gum wall.
We smacked the Experience Music Project pell-mell;
The building was ruined—but you couldn’t really tell.
We rolled to Lake City—got a quick peek into Rick’s;
Then we lurched over Capitol Hill and almost hit Dick’s.
(By the way the color of Dick’s was as orange as heck;
Reminded me a bit vaguely of the president-elect.)
Lurching west toward Fremont we started to roll;
Sideswiped the bridge—knocked the nose off the Troll;
I tried banking the sleigh, but at an angle too steep.
We crashed into my living room in a great thudding heap.
The toys were destroyed, strewn from here to next
The only thing surviving was one of those UFO 3000 Toy Quadcopters with ultra-bright L.E.D. lights that fly in the dark and do 3-D flips and stunts and include a bonus…battery.
Later next day, a bobsled repair place was busily fixin’,
The reindeer were fine, ‘cept for contusions on Vixen.
By Tuesday the sleigh was once again functional,
Insurance covered most of it, minus deductible.
But Santa would not speak to me, angry it seemed,
He gave me a look that said he was steamed.
He climbed into the sleigh for his long return journey,
He told me to expect to hear from his attorney.
Next he called out to every young Susan and Michael,
“If you’re gonna live around here you better re-cycle.”
Then he pointed at me as he flew off through the sky,
“I’ll bring some help next year—but it won’t be that guy!”