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

Just one creature was stirring- it wasn’t a mouse;

The shackles were hung by the chimney with care,

In the hopes that St. Nicholas would never leave there;

My parents were tied down, restrained in their beds,

While drug induced nightmares danced in their heads;

Sister in her kerchief and I in my mask,

Had just settled our brains for our risky winter task;

When down by the chimney there arose such a clatter,

I sprang down the stairs to resolve the whole matter;

Away to the cage I flew like a flash,

Slammed shut the door and fastened the latch;

The ash on the face of my now fallen foe,

Stood out in stark contrast to cookies and snow;

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But the face of a man not paralyzed by fear;

This little old elf, once so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick;

He was on his feet quickly, wise to my game,

He whistled and shouted, called his reindeer by name;

“Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!

We’re under attack! Dash away! Dash away all!”

They tried to leave, they attempted to fly,

But they were met with an obstacle, their feet had been tied;

The sleigh and the reindeer were in need of rescue,

St. Nicholas below was in need of help too;

I listened carefully, ear turned t’wards the roof,

For the prancing or pawing of even one little hoof;

Hearing no noise, I turned on around,

Facing the chimney where St. Nicholas was bound;

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

His clothes were matted, torn, and tarnished with soot;

A bundle of toys had been flung from his sack,

A bright red silk bag he no longer could pack,

His eyes- filled with fear! he finally looked wary,

His nose- like an alcoholic, red as a cherry;

His droll little mouth was drawn up in a sneer,

The beard on his chin was stained with old beer;

In the dying fire lay his old wooden teeth,

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had wan face and a little potbelly,

That shook as he sobbed, like a bowl full of jelly;

He was my prisoner now, this sad beaten elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

With a slice from my knife from his face he now bled,

His one remaining eye filled with nothing but dread;

He spoke not a word as I explained his new work,

“Supply me with presents, don’t be a jerk,”

And laying a finger each side of his nose,

I broke it- a pained wail from his mouth then arose;

I sprang to my feet, called my sister with a whistle,

The hair on Nick’s neck with anger did bristle;

I heard him exclaim as he was dragged out of sight,

“You know not what you’ve done! You will soon rue this night!”