A Christmas Poem from SkyGeek

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the hangar

Not a creature was stirring, not even that eugenicist Margaret Sanger

The airplanes were grounded, none in the air

St. Nick needs free airspace, he’s no time to spare.


The pilots were nestled, all snug in their beds

They slept with their headsets, glued to their heads

Mom went down early, 14 hour nap

Dad stayed up late, drinking from the tap.


When out on the lawn, arose such a clatter

Dad sprung from his bed, to first empty his bladder

When he was done, he checked on his cash

Santa the thief, made of with a dash


The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

There ran Santa, but he’s fat and he’s slow

“Hey Santa you bum, get back over here!”

But off St. Nick went, riding his reindeer


“Why every year, do I lose cash to St. Nick”

Mom chimed in quickly, “it’s cuz you’re a prick”

Another weird Christmas, boy what a shame

The only solution, beat him at his own game


"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!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"


Ironically Dad had named all his knives

He laughed on the inside, as they flew through the sky

One had struck Santa, right through the shoe

He lost hold of the toy bag, and downward it flew


“I did it I did it, I got him in the foot”

Falling through the chimney, the bag hit the soot

A bundle of toys he had lost from his back

Thanks to the precision, of Dad’s knife attack


His face filled with anger, he wasn’t so merry

He sprung from his slay, like that Olympian named Kerry

“What’s up now Santa, you just ate crow!”

Santa looked pained, shoeless in the snow


He snarled and he grunted, he grinded his teeth

He pulled out a knife, and looked at a wreathe

He gave it a toss, it flew through the sky

It went through the wreathe, what a bulls-eye!


Santa explained that he through knives in Nam

He reached out his hand, and I grasped his palm

He said he respected the skills Dad had shown

The pitch in his voice took a friendlier tone


“Let bygone’s be bygone” said Santa to Dad

With those merry words, Dad stopped being mad

I heard him exclaim, as he flew out of sight

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