A traditional poem gets gussied up for the holidays
In light of the holiday season, here is something for those of you in the audience who prefer political correctness and inclusiveness when common sense dictates that none should exist. It is based on the original poem, “The Night Before Christmas” by Clement Clarke Moore.
’Twas the night before a non-specific, non-denominational, winter solstice holiday, when all through the government-provided house, not a creature was stirring, not even a small, furry rodent that should be respected.
The genderless hosiery was hung by recycled materials with care, in hopes that a non-specific, non-denominational, winter solstice holiday character soon would be there.
The younger, but no less valuable members of the family, were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of non-genetically-enhanced, sugar-free fruit danced in the most non-suggestive of manners, in their heads.
My domestic partner and I had just settled down for a long winter’s nap, when out on the xeriscaped yard, there arose such a noise and a clatter, that I sprang from my union-made futon to see who was violating the neighborhood evening noise ordinances and what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash, pulled back the non-materialistic window coverings and threw up the sash.
When what through my federally-funded prescription glasses did appear, but an emission-free vehicle, drawn by eight size-challenged reindeer.
With its driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment that it must be a non-specific, non-denominational, winter-solstice holiday character, or perhaps I was just sick.
But no, up to the house-top, the coursers they flew, with the emission-free vehicle full of toys and a non-specific, non-denominational, winter solstice holiday character, too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand and turned around, down the chimney the non-specific, non-denominational, winter solstice holiday character came with a bound.
He was dressed all in faux fur, from his head to his foot, and his labor-friendly clothes were tarnished with recycled ashes and soot.
He was slightly plump and a right jolly youth-challenged elf, and I smiled when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He went straight to work and made not a sound and stuffed the genderless hosiery with presents til they were round.
The presents all had union labels, with one that read, “Inspector 7 was Mabel.”
Ah, now there’s a union for you, perpetual employment and probably housing, too.
I paused for a moment with a turn of my neck, and thought, “That was lots better than a welfare check.”
But how could this be living wages and benefits when the presents were passed out for free?
Yet before I could prod, he gave a quick nod, then laying a finger aside of his nose, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his emission-free vehicle and to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, while driving from sight: “Happy non-specific, non-denominational, winter solstice holiday to all, and to all a good-night.”
And may I wish you a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year!