Twas the Night Before
the night before Christmas, when all through the city
a thug was stirring oh my what a pity;
And the flat
saps were hung by the jail with care,
In hopes they
wouldn’t be used in there.
The brass were
nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of
paperwork danced in their heads;
I in my vest and
my partner in his,
Had just settled in for the long
When in the trunk there arose such
I sprang from the vehicle to see what
was the matter.
Away to the trunk I flew in a dash,
Turing the key and lifting the lid in a flash.
The glare of the street lamp on the new fallen snow,
Gave the luster of mid-day to the objects below.
When what to my wondering eyes should I see,
But a fat man in red handcuffed and unfree.
His movements were jerky, sudden and quick,
I thought for a moment he looked like St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his curses they came,
He hollered and shouted and called me such names.
“Now, this and now that,” stupid and worse;
My oh my this fat man could curse.
from the trunk struggling to be free,
jiggling and squirming and looked right at me.
Dress like a Santa from his head to his foot,
And his closed were all dirty with ashes and soot.
“A mall Santa?” my solution it seemed,
He straighten and stiffed his smile then beamed.
“The real thing I assure you,” he said some force,
So my partner counter, “You have ID Mr. Claus, of course.”
With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Santa gave foot bail, on a chase we were led.
With hands cuffed behind him down the street he ran,
As fast and furious as a handcuffed fat man can.
He rounded a corner, out of our sight,
Santa and the pair of handcuffs gave flight.
When we got to the corner, the very spot,
fat man was gone, hiding we thought.
But we heard
him exclaim, from somewhere out of sight,
Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”
© Raymond E. Foster, 1986-2011