'Twas the Night Before Christmas...

...and all through the flat,not a creature was stirring; not even my cat.

My business had tanked – no more dough in the bag;Here's hoping for socks filled with holiday swag.

The monsters were nestled all snug in their beds,While tuna and dog biscuits danced in their heads;

And Maman and Auntie, and I and my squeezeHad just settled down to . . . *ahem* catch a few z's . . .

When out in the street came a hullabaloo;I fell out of bed like a practised gumshoe.

Outside I had heard what I thought was a shot;In my line of work, that happens a lot.

The yellow of street lamps on new-fallen snowGave the world outside a dull, sickly glow;

When, what my tired sleuth's eyeballs should see,But an ancient, backfiring old jalopy (yeah, it doesn't scan, so sue me).

With a curly-haired driver, so sneaky and slick . . .I slapped at my forehead: “Jack's dressed as St. Nick!”

From out of the back seat his minions they came,And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

“Presently, Mr. P.! Forthwith, Mr. B.;Messrs. A. and W., proceed directly!Ascend to the portico, the apex scale;Hasten collectively and sloth curtail!”

As small-time crooks before the blue-shirts' raids fly,When they meet with a fire escape, mount to the sky;

So up to the house-top the minions they flew,With a bag full of loot, and “St. Nicholas” too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard from the roofA chorus of mutterings, “ows” and an “oof”As one minion stepped on another's big toe,Lowering Jack down through the window.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

He had a large pillowcase stuffed up his shirt,And he carried a teddy bear covered in dirt.

His eyes – they were shifty! His dimples malicious!His expression of glee I thought most suspicious!

His mouth split his face in a wide, impish grin,And the fakest of beards was affixed to his chin.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,Blowing bubbles that circled his head like a wreath;

The Bear, for his part, had a much rounder tum,Like he'd recently sampled a bowlful of rum.

I looked on aghast at this most absurd sight,This unwelcome intruder to my Christmas night;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his headSoon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, which suited me fine,('cause all of his jargon is too hard to rhyme).

The socks being filled, he returned to his cord,And giving a nod, out the window he soared.

He sprang to his car; to his gang gave a whistle;And away they all flew like a contraband missile;

But I heard him exclaim, ere the rubber he burned . . .

“Felicitous Co-opted Solsticial Celebration to theensemble, and to the congregation a fortuitous nocturne!”

photography by Sarah Michelle Stilson

editing and words by Christopher Peregrin Stilson

with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore