Mark Figley: Holiday classic revisited to align with the times.
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the land
Not a soul was working to lend the country a hand;
Since stockings and cupboards had been left needing of wares,
Everyone was hoping that St. Nick would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of COVID shots danced in their heads;
And mama in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains after all of Joe’s crap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a nut,
Tore open the shutters; almost fell on my butt.
The moon on the breast of new-fallen snow,
Gave a luster of climate change to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a half-empty sleigh and eight famished reindeer,
With a nimble, old driver so lively and plump,
For a moment I thought it might be Donald Trump.
More rapid than Biden stimulus checks his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and hollered, and called them by name:
“Now, Hunter! now, Ilhan! now Kamala and AOC!
On, Bernie! on, Liz! on, Chuckie and Nancy!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now Dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As leaves that before the great reset fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the caribou they flew
With a sleigh lacking toys and St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each tiny hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
Fewer gifts than usual he had flung on his back;
He resembled a store owner with a scaled back rack.
His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples still merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And his beard a little whiter from an up and down Dow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his lips,
And the smoke, it clung to him like Gladys Knight and her Pips;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed like a bowl of grape jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Filled the stockings and shelves; he wasn’t a jerk,
Then laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a shout,
faster than you could utter Joe Biden’s a lout.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
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Mark Figley is a political activist and guest columnist from Elida. His column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Lima News editorial board or AIM Media, owner of The Lima News.
