Twas the Night before Christmas at My House
a Poem by Clement Moore; Comments by Donnamaie

Twas the Night before Christmas at My House
a Poem by Clement Moore; Comments by Donnamaie (2007)

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
This is because Ranger and Summer would play with them.
Roughly. Wise mice.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.
Only Mrs. Claus comes to my house.
And the only man I want to see under my tree is Fabio.
Preferably wearing nothing but a bow, around his chest.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
I doubt that my boys ever had sugar-plums dancing in there.
Robot warriors, Karate masters, a spaceship or two, and the latest gaming software.
Maybe.

And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.
Sorry, but I was up by myself until 2AM trying to assemble that first Big Wheel.
Hammers can be useful at that hour. Trust a man to take all the credit.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
I spring-loaded the Remington 20-gauge and took the safety off before doing any
"spranging".

Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
Actually, my sashes slide sideways and my houses never had shutters.
I stalked to the second floor windows.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
Full moons are always a problem. Brings out the village idiots.
And if snow falls in Fremont or San Diego, there would be a news crew to
 document it.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny [sic] reindeer.
OK, which one of you stole the church's display?

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
Reindeer take more than a little old man to control.
I drove a 2-mule hitch once. I rode with cowboys in Wyoming.
I know these things. Contrary creatures.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
Old people don't remember names.
And you drive a team with the reins.
Whistling makes them smelly reindeer edgy.
So does shouting at them.

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
Sounds like someone was hitting the rum pot.
Who names a cranky reindeer Cupid?

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
Jumping off the wall while inebriated is not a very sound idea!
Neither is driving a team while foxed.

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
Hurricane season precedes the dry leaves falling off trees season, you dolt!

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.
If you're seeing flying sleighs, I would think you've had a tad too much eggnog.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
If my sons have climbed up that stupid ladder again I'll tan their hides!

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.
The only thing that ever bounded down my chimney was a squirrel.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
Since I've never lit a fire in there, you'll have to come up with a better explanation
then that for the washing I'm looking at, old man!

A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
Toys? In a sack? More likely taking things than giving. I'm dialing 911!

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
Like I said, too much hard sauce.

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
I thought you said he was all sooty.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
No smoking in my house! I have asthma!

He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
Now that just makes me remember all those last suffering days of my pregnancies!
And where's the pie? The cookies? The fudge? Better be where I left 'em!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
Only because I have a good sense of the ridiculous.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
Especially not while I'm clutching a loaded 20-gauge!

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
I'm not sure describing motion is how I'd apply that last noun.

And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!
I thought I told you guys to close the damn damper!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
Thistle? In winter?
And do you know how much a reindeer weighs?
Never mind a sleigh!
I just put on a new roof!

But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
Well, about time. I have stockings to fill, stuffing to stir,
and Christmas punch to put away,
Because I've obviously had a little bit too much of that today.