'Twas Not Right Before Christmas

INSPIRED BY CLEMENT MOORE’S

“’TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS”

’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

When the space–time continuum suffered a tear.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

iPod Touch earbuds attached to their heads.

The wife in her jammies retired with tea

While I shoved all the gifts ’neath our fake Christmas tree.

I took a short rest from the holiday cheer,

Grabbed forty winks—woke up craving a beer.

I walked to the kitchen to fetch the cold brew,

And glanced at the clock: ’twas elev’n fifty-two.

In just a few minutes, ’twould be Christmas Day,

But the whole thing felt wrong, in a temporal way—

And not just wrong time, but wrong age and wrong place!

I broke out in a sweat—my heart started to race.

I didn’t belong here, of that I was certain.

I dashed to the window to peer through the curtain.

The new-fallen snow sparkled under the stars

My street seemed so different, with odd-looking cars.

I looked at our Bose gear, our flat-screen TV,

Our Blu-ray, our Xbox, PlayStation and Wii.

I knew all their names, all the functions they had,

Yet they all seemed so modern, newfangled—“Egad!”

I said it out loud, a most old-fashioned word,

And yet as I said it, it seemed not absurd.

In fact, it felt natural, at home on my lips

Like “Good golly!” “My heavens!” and “Oh fiddlesticks!”

Something was warped here, ev’n anachronistic:

I belonged to the past, and a life more simplistic!

With mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,

My brain should be settled for a long winter’s nap.

Instead I was wondering what I should do

As a strange glowing light glided into my view.

The light shimmered shapelessly over the floor,

Floating in space, between me and the door.

The light dimmed a moment, and then I divined

The shape of a man! (Was I losing my mind?)

My mouth slowly opened but ere I could ask,

I heard, “I am the Ghost of All Christmases Past.”

I stood there quite stunned, knowing not what to say.

So the Ghost went on blithely since that was his way:

“I will show you your past, where you went wrong in life.

Consumed with your business, ending up with no wife.”

“I’m sure that sounds lovely,” said I cautiously,

“But there’s been a small error—I’m sure you’ll agree

When you learn my wife’s sleeping upstairs in our bed,

Which is where I should be, but I’m down here instead.”

The Ghost looked askance—“Calm down, Ebenezer!”—

Checked a note from his pocket. “Oh, bloody Caesar!

A mistake at Head Office! A grave oversight!

Can they possibly ever get anything right?

I’m not even in London—” as breath he did draw—

I said, “Nope, this is Canada, place called Moose Jaw.

It’s cold and remote, with a small population,

But downtown’s quite nice, since the ‘revitalization.’”

The Ghost smacked his forehead, then took out a map.

Had a look for some minutes, then muttered, “Oh, drat!

I’m not in the right classic nor epoch of time!

I’m stuck midst a wholly wrong holiday rhyme!

“This is highly unusual, confusing, a mess.

Not sure what to do…at a loss, I confess.

Perhaps we should fly to your past anyway?

Straighten things out? Well, what do you say?”

You visit my past. I know it—it’s boring.

I’ll stay with my family to greet Christmas morning.”

This Ghost from the past sent my sense of time reeling.

No wonder I’m caught in this awful strange feeling.

Then out in the kitchen arose such a clatter

I quickly ran in to see what was the matter,

Not sure what I’d find there… A reindeer? A sleigh?

A baby surrounded by cows and some hay?

An old man lay sprawled amid bright pots and pans

Flailing this way and that with his feet and his hands.

He said, “Sorry for coming here out of the blue.

I’m Clarence the Angel and I’m here to help you.

“I’ll show you such things as you’ve never seen.

Like how life would go on if you’d never been.”

I replied, “What’s the point of this gift you’d bestow?”

That confused him…he whispered, “I don’t really know.”

The Ghost then decided to enter the fray.

To Clarence he said, “You must share my dismay.

I’ve attempted to get this man back to the past

But he just won’t do anything that I have asked.”

Clarence stared at the Ghost, his head gave a sharp jerk:

“You’re the Christmas Past Ghost? I’m a fan of your work!”

They dove into shop talk, like old friends at ease,

Till I jumped in, exclaiming, “Hark, gentlemen, PLEASE!

“We three don’t belong in the same Christmas tale,

Our three different stories don’t really dovetail.

Yet somehow at this point we’ve all intersected,

I’m baffled, I’m beat—tell me how we’re connected!”

The Ghost said, “I’ll show you what’s really at stake.”

The angel said, “I’ll show the difference you make.”

“Both are good lessons,” said I…sighed and paused.

“I’m in a fluff piece about Santa Claus.”

“Come with me,” Clarence said, “I’ll prove and you’ll see,

How sad without you your friends’ lives would be.”

“No, it’s me you should come with,” the Christmas Ghost bade,

“To see how miserable you are from choices you’ve made.”

“Go get lost, Casper !” Clarence swung at the Ghost.

“This guy’s coming with me. Back off or you’re toast.”

The Ghost grew quite angry and kneed a connection

With part of poor Clarence that had no protection.

Clarence bent double; the Ghost jumped on his back.

They fell to the floor—each renewed his attack.

With rolling and brawling, and fighting for glory—

It beat the crap out of a nice Christmas story!

The shocks of the evening had stricken me dumb,

When a small boy appeared; he was sucking his thumb.

My head started throbbing, right up through my sinus.

He snuggled his blanket, said, “Hi, my name’s Linus.

“You look quite perplexed, mind all in a whir.

The meaning of Christmas I’ll tell you, dear sir.

Lights, please,” he ordered—like setting the scene—

Then he quoted Luke 2: verses eight to fourteen.

And then things went crazy, they just wouldn’t stop—

The house filled with people from bottom to top.

A young boy with glasses…with Red Ryder gun!

“You’ll shoot your eye out—be…be careful there, son.”

Everywhere that I looked was a sight to behold:

A smartly dressed snowman sang “Silver and Gold.”

And more were appearing, I saw with frustration,

Some were cartoons, and others claymation.

Small misfit toys climbed up on my shelf.

A runaway reindeer, a blonde dentist elf.

A small drummer boy beat his drum without pause,

Tim Allen in fat suit did his best Santa Claus.

Bing Crosby was singing, a song about dreaming,

And towel-clad M. Culkin kept screaming and screaming.

And there was Bruce Willis, not looking his best,

Yelling, “Yippee ki-yay”—I couldn’t make out the rest.

There were birds, there were rings, there were ten lords a-leaping.

With such a loud racket, how on earth’s my wife sleeping?

I was puzzled and dazed from my head to my socks,

When my living room filled with a blue police box.

Out jumped a tall man with both arms upraised.

“Calm down, take a breath, no need to be crazed!

Things will change back to the way they once were,

That would be best, I’m sure you concur.

“With the help of this gizmo I have in my hand,

I, Doctor Who, will right wrongs, understand?”

“I hate you,” said a green man, whose shoes seemed to pinch.

“I’m not that kind of Who, you idiot Grinch.”

“What the hell happened?” I asked Doctor Who,

“To cause this confusion, this giant to-do?”

“Can’t really explain,” he said sheepishly.

“It’s too convoluted. Yes, even for me.

“But don’t worry, I’ll fix it in just half a mo.”

He pushed a small button that started to glow.

The Grinch and Bing Crosby and all who’d appeared

Spun around, shrunk right down, and then disappeared!

My home was transformed to what it had been:

I was back in my nightshirt, and all was pristine.

So relieved was I then, I burst into applause,

When I saw by our tree the REAL Santa Claus.

He stood there unsteadily, stroking his beard.

He looked at me blinking and said, “That was weird.

So what should we do, after all that’s transpired?”

I said, “Finish up here—I’m really quite tired.”

Santa entered the fireplace, climbed up brick by brick,

Shouted back, “Aren’t you old to believe in St. Nick?”

“Maybe so,” I replied after thinking a bit.

“What I truly believe: I’m too old for this shit.”

Santa was shocked. “Why, that was obscene!

It’s too bad things are back to the way they had been.

From ‘Egad!’ and ‘Good golly,’ you’ve broadened your scope,

If I’d time I’d be washing out your mouth with soap.”

Santa got in his sleigh, saying, “Be a good boy.

Clean up your language—earn next year’s e-toy.”

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”