The Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.
And Mamma in her kerchief and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.
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 flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer;
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall!
Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So, up to the house-tops the coursers they flew,
With a sleigh full of toys, and Saint Nicholas too.
And then in a twinkle, I heard on the roof
the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney, Saint 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.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddlar just opening his pack.
His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of 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,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And 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 whistle,
And away they all flew, like the down on a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night."

-- Clement C. Moore

Politically Correct Version of The Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before solstice and all through the co-op
Not a creature was messing the calm status quo up.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
Dreaming of lentils and warm whole-grain breads.
We'd welcomed the winter that day after school
By dancing and drumming, and burning the Yule,
A more meaningful gesture to honour the planet
Than buying more trinkets for Mum or Aunt Janet,
Or choosing a tree just to murder and stump it,
And dress it all up like a seasonal strumpet.

My lifemate and I, having turned down the heat,
Slipped under the covers for a well-deserved sleep,
When from out on the lawn there came such a roar
I fell from my futon and rolled to the floor.
I crawled to the window and pulled back the latch,
And muttered, "Aw, where is that Neighbourhood Watch?"

I saw there below through the murk of the night
A sleigh and eight rendeer of non-standard height.
At the reins of that sleigh sat a mean-hearted knave
Who treated each deer like his personal slave.
I'd seen him before in some ads for car loans,
Plus fast food and soft drinks and cellular phones.
He must have cashed in from his mercantile chores,
Since self-satisfaction just ooozed from his pores.

He called each by name, as if he were right
To treat them like humans, entrenching his might:
"Now Donder, now Blitzen," and other such aliases,
Showing his true Euro-centrical biases.
With a snap of his fingers, away they all flew,
Like lumberjacks served with a plate of tofu.

Up to the roof-top they carried the sleigh.
(The holes in the shingles are there to this day.)
Out bounded the man, who went straight to the flue.
I knew in an instant just what I should do.

After donning my slippers, downstairs did I dash
To see this trespasser emerge from the ash.
His clothes were all covered with soot, but of course,
From our wood-fueled alternative energy source.
Through the grime I distinguished the make of his duds -
He was dressed all in fur, fairly dripping with blood.
"We're a cruelty-free house!" I proclaimed with such heat
He was startled and tripped on the logs at his feet.

He stood back up dazed, with mirth in his eyes.
It was then that I noticed his unhealthy size.
But that wasn't all to make sane persons choke:
In his teeth sat a pipe that was belching out smoke!
I could scarcely believe what invaded our house;
This carcinogenic and over-weight louse
Was so red in the face from his energy spent,
I expected a heart attack right there and then.

Behind him he toted a red velvet bag
Full to exploding with sinister swag.
He asked,"Where's your tree?" with a face somewhat long.
I said, "Out in the yard, which is where it belongs."
"But where will I put all the presents I've bought?"
I looked at him squarely and said, "Take the lot
To some frivolous people who think that they need
To succumb to the sickness of commerce and greed,
Whose only joy comes from the act of consuming,
Thus sending the stock of the retailers booming."

He blinked and said, "Ho, ho, ho,! But you're kidding!"
I gave him a stare that was stern and forbidding.
"Surely children need something with which to have fun?
It's like childhood's over before it's begun."

He looked in my eyes for some sign of assent,
But I strengthened my will and refused to relent.
"They have plenty of fun," I cut to the gist,
"And your mindless distractions have never been missed.
They take CPR so that they can save lives,
And go door-to-door for the used-clothing drives.
They re-cycle, renew, reuse - and reveal
For saving the planet a laudable zeal.
When they padlock themselves to a fence to protest
Against nuclear power, we think they're the best."

He said, "But they're children - lo, when do they play?"
I countered, "Is that why you've driven your sleigh,
To bring joy to the hearts of each child and tot?
All right, open your bag; let's see what you've got."

He sheepishly did as I'd asked and behold!
A Malibu Barbie in a skirt made of gold.
"You think that my girls will like playing with this,
An icon of sexist, consumerist kitsch?
With its unnatural figure and airheaded grin,
This trollop makes every girl yearn to be thin,
And take up fad diets and binging and purging
Instead of respecting her own body's urging
To welcome the shape that her body has found
And rejoice to be lanky, short, skinny or round."

Deep in his satchel he searched for a toy,
Saying, "This is a hit with most little boys."
And what did he put in my trembling hand
But a gun from the BrainBlasters Power Command!
"It's a 'hit,' to be sure," I sneered in his face,
"And a plague to infect the whole human race!
How about grenades or some working bazookas
To turn all of our kids into half-wit palookas?"

I seized on his bag just to see for myself
The filth being spread by this odious elf.
An Easy-Bake Oven - ah, goddess, what perfidy!
To hoodwink young girls into household captivity!

Plus an archery play set with shafts that fly out,
The very thing needed, to put your eye out.
And toy metal tractors, steam shovels, and cranes
For tearing down woodlands and scarring the plains,
Plus "games" like Monopoly, Pay Day, Tycoon,
As if lessons in greed can't start up too soon.
And even more weapons from BrainBlasters Co.,
Like cannons and nunchucks and ray guns that glow.

That's all I could find in his red velvet sack -
Perverseness and mayhem to set us all back.
(But I did find one book that caused me to ponder -
Some fine bedtime tales by a fellow named Garner.)
"We need none of this," I announced in a huff,
"No 'business-as-usual' holiday stuff.
We sow in our offspring more virtue than this.
Your 'toys' offer some things they never will miss."

The big man's expression was a trifle bereaved
As he shouldered his pack and got ready to leave.
"I pity the kids who grow up around here,
Who're never permitted to be of good cheer.
Who aren't allowed leisure for leisure's own sake,
But must fret every minute - it makes my heart break!"

"Enough histrionics! Don't pity our kids
If they don't do as Macy's or Toys 'R' Us bids.
They live by their principles first and foremost
And know what's important," to him did I boast.

"Pray, could I meet them?" "Oh no, they're not here.
They're up on the roof, liberating your deer!"
Then Santa sputtered and pointed his finger
But, mad as he was, he had no time to linger.
He flew up on the chimney like smoke from a fire,
And up on the roof I heard voices get higher.

I ran outside the co-op to see him react
To my children's responsible, kind-hearted act.
He chased them away, and disheartened, dismayed,
He re-hitched his reindeer (who'd docilely stayed).
I watched with delight as he scooted of then.
He'd be too embarrassed to come back again.

But with parting disdain, do you know what he said,
When this overweight huckster took off in his sled?
This reindeer enslaver, this exploiter of elves?
"Happy Christmas to all, but get over yourselves!"

-- James Finn Garne