‘Twas the night before Christmas | AspenTimes.com

‘Twas the night before Christmas

Janet Urquhart

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, except for my mouse.

It dashed to and fro on the little foam pad,

searching for presents still to be had.

I scoured the ‘Net with nary a pause,

and wished for elf helpers, like old Santy Claus.

Visions of sugarplums danced in my head,

I’ve had better fantasies snuggled in bed.

Procrastination, the source of my plight,

left little time to make Christmas right.

I scanned my e-mail for something for Mom,

but organ enlargement seemed terribly wrong.

An Aspen bear calendar, hot off the press?

None left to be had, they’re sold out, unless …

I logged onto eBay quick as a flash,

and smartly acquired the last can of Who Hash.

Impulse buying is never more fun

than after your seventh eggnog and rum.

Perhaps a surprise for that honey of mine,

It won’t matter what, so long as it rhymes.

A financial investment, always a thought,

Nothing says “love ” quite like a stock.

A mutual fund could seal our bliss,

or erase any chance of a New Year’s Eve kiss.

Better stick with romance so we can conspire,

like the song says, as we dream by the fire,

and face unafraid, the plans that we made,

walking in a winter … hey, what was that?

I had fallen asleep, lulled by rum and the night,

when a really loud noise woke me up in a fright.

Out on the roof, there arose several crashes,

I reached for my gun and my night-vision glasses.

It was Santa himself, stumbling around,

looking for some way to get to the ground.

Since I don’t have a chimney, he looked a bit lost,

but he slid right down the rope that I tossed.

“Viagra! Cialis! Bored housewives in Dallas!

“Those aren’t proper presents,” he said without malice.

“You can’t buy your loved ones any such thing,

You must give them something like Santa might bring.”

He loaded my arms with boxes and bows,

and put his finger inside of his nose.

I glanced away quickly, dreading a pick,

There’s some stuff you don’t want to see from St. Nick.

Then he sprang to his sleigh, up the rope in a cinch,

and said he was off to help out a Grinch.

“What’s his trouble?” I asked. “He shopping eBay?”

“No, his heart needs to grow three sizes today.”

Sure enough, it was Christmas, I thought with a start.

It snuck in while I slumbered, jumped out like a fart.

Soon the sun would be up, the sky all aglow,

“Merry Christmas” said Santa. “Don’t eat yellow snow.”