when all through the house
Not a picketer was stirring, not even a mouse;
The contract was laid out by Marc Reed with care,
In hopes that the red shirts would soon be there;
The EWA's were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of five-figure paychecks danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long spring nap,
When out on the curb there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the barely there snow,
Gave a lustre of shady to what was below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a big f---ing mob, all 36K in cheer,
With a little old driver that looked like he's sick,
I knew in a moment it must be a trick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them 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!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of promises, all empty ones too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney a Red Shirt came with a bound.
He was dressed all in red, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of signs he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a beggar opening his pack.
His eyes—how they sagged! his dimples, how dreary!
His cheeks like dead roses, withered and weary!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke smelled like meth, goddamn did it wreak,
He had a broad face and a monstrous belly
That shook when he cried, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right creepy old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know, this muthafuka gots to go!
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And emptied our stockings while whining about no work,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
Sniffed a line off the table and then struck a pose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Lockout to all, can't win every fight!”