Twas the Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, and down at O’Shea’s,

I toasted the season for three solid days.

The elves, all on strike, had gone home without warning,

“Can’t make toys sober,” I said, “too darn boring!”

My suit was hung crooked, my boots nearly lost,

My belly was shaking, it’s winter, not frost.

I stumbled outside with a hiccup and cheer,

And hollered to no one, “I need another beer!”

But then came a rumble, a sleigh’s muffled clatter,

And reindeer appeared in a sparkly scatter!

They looked sort of nervous; poor Rudolph looked worn.

I burped and said, “Boys, we’ve got gifts to adorn!”

Up into the sky with my flask in one hand,

I zigged and I zagged like a snow-covered band.

I mixed up the rooftops, misplaced a few toys,

Then shouted, “Ho-Ho! Merry tipsiness, boys!”

By dawn, I was sprawled on a lawn, full of cheer,

A cookie half-eaten, a candy-cane ear.

The children awoke, wide-eyed, full of awe,

There’s Santa passed out with his boots in the straw!

I blinked and remembered (oh dear, what a flaw),

The whole night’s adventure, wow, I was the Claus!

So now every Christmas, when tales are retold,

Of the drunk in the sleigh and the night oh-so-cold,

They laugh when they hear how it all came to pass,

My mug’s on the news: “Santa busted, too gassed!”

Now Mrs. Claus checks my cocoa each night,

She sniffs for the nog and keeps reins locked up tight.

The elves run compliance; there’s breath tests and laws,

And a sticker that reads “Sober Santa Claus.”

Still, each Christmas Eve, when the clock’s striking two,

I pour just a splash, maybe three, maybe few.

Then wink at the moon with that same jolly grin,

And whisper, “Ho-ho, let the merriment begin.”