‘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
Saturday.
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!”
Night before Christmas 2015
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and it seems quite absurd
That somebody once decided that ‘twas’ was a word.
But that’s not the point, so let me get back to my tale
While I knock back a few pints of gluten-free ale.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Playstations danced in their heads;
And mamma in a teddy, and I in the nude,
And suddenly this poem has gotten quite lewd.
When down on the porch there came such a knocking,
I threw on my pants and started fast walking.
Away to the front door I boldly went lopin’,
I reached for the knob and threw the door open.
On the porch stood an old guy in a suit and a beard,
He was sweaty and puffin’ and seemed kinda weird.
But his face was kindly and looked very sensitive,
I figured he might be an Amway representative.
But the red garish wardrobe and belly so thick,
Told me instead that this dude was Saint Nick.
But he lingered right there and seemed in no hurry,
Sorta looked like a bearded Mayor Ed Murray.
He spoke and said, “I don’t mean to be a pest;
But would you mind if I came in and took a short rest?
I’m so tired and beat—and can’t deliver another toy.”
Then he shuffled right in, plopped onto a La-Z-Boy;
He moved scarcely a muscle, was purely inertia,
Reminded me somewhat of that drill called Big Bertha.
Nick explained that the sleigh ride had got him so pooped,
He’d decided to land the thing near my front stoop.
He said the elves had refused to help him much further,
Since they unionized back in early November.
He said, “Things used to be easy and fantastic;
As I’d deliver toys everywhere in a bag of strong plastic;
But now in order to stay in Seattle’s good favor,
My compliant Santa sack has to be cloth or paper.”
I felt bad for the guy; he looked so stressed out;
He looked in my eye, “Would you finish my route?”
The notion at first seemed to me so insane.
It was like Sleep Country becoming Sleep Train.
He said, “This area’s my last stop on the planet;
Just six houses left and a woman named Janet.”
His only warning was “Please don’t be reckless;
I’m desperate or I wouldn’t ask someone so feckless.”
He seemed to consider the risks with a frown,
But I said, “No sweat Santa, I won’t let you down.”
Quickly leaping up I ran out like a dervish,
The eight tiny reindeer all looked pretty nervous.
I sat in the sleigh and quick-cracked the whip;
Donner said, “You do that again and get a fat lip.”
The craft lifted off so swift and so super,
It looked like a deer-powered flying sleigh Uber.
We made a delivery, down the chimney I went,
But the burn ban had been lifted—so back up I went.
When we were finishing 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 and the sleigh—and eight screaming reindeer.
We all hurtled downward at an angle most steep;
We clunked down on Alki in a great crashing heap.
Later, a bobsled repair place was busily fixin’,
The reindeer were fine ‘cept for a boo-boo on Vixen.
Before long the sleigh was reasonably functional,
Insurance covered it all, minus deductible.
But Santa would not speak to me, angry it seemed,
He gave me a look that said he was steamed.
He sat in the beat-up sleigh for his long return journey,
Turned and said, “You’ll be hearing from my attorney.”
And I heard him exclaim as he flew through the sky,
“Merry Christmas to all—except for that guy!”