Saturday, December 25, 2010

'Twas the night before Christmas . . .

by Michael (with some help of Clement Moore and an angelic host of elves)

’Twas the night before Christmas, around ten o’clock;

Joe Kozmarski was lurking, packing a Glock.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

Which got Joe a’thinking, Which lady was bare?

The children were quaking, all tucked in their beds,

Clutching their covers up over their heads.

It was all so suspicious, Joe pulled out his gun –

If a gang of thieves came, he would shoot every one.

Then out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

Joe sprang to the door to see what was the matter.

There in the gleam of the new-fallen snow

Was a man dressed in red with eight reindeer in tow.

Joe shot him. It’s sad. He shot Santa Claus.

And he shot up the deer from their heads to their paws.

Ah, the yard was all bloody, deer hung from the trees,

And the smell of fresh venison danced in the breeze.

Then down from the sky, from a heavenly cloud,

Sad music broke forth, melancholic and loud –

A heavenly chorus consisting of elves

Sang dirges for Santa and also themselves.

Joe sat on the ground and he started to weep;

He’d had trouble before, but never this deep.

The elves from on high all called him a fuck-up,

A jerk-off, an asshole; then told him to buck up

So, Joe got a-working: he picked through the scene,

Wiped blood from each item until it was clean,

And he made up a pack and went door to door

And delivered his gifts, then delivered some more.

Young Bill got an antler, young Jane got a hoof,

And Tommy got shingles Joe’d shot off a roof.

Hank got a sleigh rail, and Deb, Rudolph’s nose

Sue got two keychains with Santa’s big toes.

Each child had a Christmas with plenty of cheer,

And Joe ate a dinner of roasted reindeer.

(I wish everyone

A very merry Christmas, and to all a good noir!)


Reece said...

Nice job, Michael! When you think about it, Santa really is the ultimate second-story man. After a career devoted to B&E, it really had to end this way. Merry Christmas!

Michael Wiley said...

True about Santa as a second-story man. And once or twice a year I see stories in the newspaper about burglars who've tried to enter buildings through chimneys and gotten stuck or met with other other unpleasant results.

Merry Christmas to you, too, Reece!

Hilary Davidson said...

Michael, your poem just knocked poor Clement Moore right out of my brain. From now on, I will recite: "’Twas the night before Christmas, around ten o’clock; Joe Kozmarski was lurking, packing a Glock." Nicely done! (PS Hope you had a great Christmas.)

Kelli Stanley said...

Wonderfully done, Michael! Made me hungry for the reindeer sausage I tried in Anchorage ... ;)

Michael Wiley said...

Thanks, Hilary. And, yes, we had a very nice Christmas: never a white one here in Jacksonville, but peaceful and calm -- as I would wish. No reindeer stew for us. We ate tofu and shrimp ravioli for Christmas Eve dinner: not very hardboiled, but there you have it.

Michael Wiley said...

Thanks, Kelli. I saw a compilation of the six weirdest political videos of 2010, and among them was one of Sarah Palin shooting a moose. Those Alaskans are serious about their meat. I wonder what Sarah Palin's perspective on Rudolph is.

Shane Gericke said...

If you haven't seen Sarah P cutting heads off chickens, you haven't lived. Puts the moose bit to shame. In a perfect world, the moose would be shooting her back ...

Love those second-story Santa stories, Michael. They're funnier'n hell. Particular when the poor homeowner who doesn't know goes and kindles a roaring fire.

Michael Wiley said...

Thanks, Shane.

I'm not sure what message we're supposed to take away from Sarah P's animal bloodletting, and I'm pretty sure that I don't want to know.

We're missing your weekly posts, Shane: over all, we've become a less salacious blog.