Twas the Night Before Christmas

My twisted perspective and warped sense of humor have once again asserted themselves. Unlike previous possessions however, in this particular case I have taken on a rather famous poem (of the above listed title) first printed anonymously, but later credited to Clement Moore. Being dead, he cannot object to such abuse, but may be found spinning in his grave upon the posting of this version. I hope that you enjoy its timely release. 

Twas The Night Before Christmas ... In Toledo  

Twas the night before Christmas, and through Glass City

Not a Creature was stirring, and more was the pity

Red-light cameras were hung, by the stoplights with care

In hopes that new revenues, soon would be there

The people were hiding, like always it seemed

And Council of rubber stamps once again dreamed

But sounds of pure rage from the big office did pour

While workers most wisely just ran for the door

Hizzoner was off on a tantrum again

His target now suburban businessmen

For Take Back Toledo was ready to start

And that can't be good for our old Mayor Cart

His eyeballs were flashing, his fingers were twitching

With radio stations the subject of bitching

He rambled of treatments, both violent and dire

His diatribe dripping brimstone and fire

The lights in the Market, now dimly they glow

But Carty's red face was much brighter you know

He suddenly mellowed in tenor and tone

When finally seeing he wasn't alone

It was me that was trapped with this loony old goat

With hopes that his meds would keep hands from my throat

He glared at me now as if seeing me dead

His coffee cup poised now to throw at my head

I froze in position, a smile stiffly glowing

In hopes that my fear of him wouldn't be showing

I searched for an option, I longed for an exit

I sweated and prayed that I wasn't his target

But just when I thought that I had seen my end He crumpled and folded and started to bend

And right at that moment he just broke down cryin

Admitting his enemies were Fred and Brian

He sobbed and he stammered, he pulled at his hair He blubbered not caring that any was there He stormed and he stamped as he read off offenses

He steamed as he listed the dire recompenses

I told him his problem just might be bad judgment On Flowers and bike paths, he had been so hell bent
I said there was more to his job than new showers Or than thinking of taxes and fees at all hours
I told him to stand up and admit to the blame Own up to it all and his head hang in shame I pointed out he had not done his job well
He drew himself up and threw out "Go to Hell"
He ran from his office and left me to stare He bypassed the lift and went straight for the stair
He raced down the floors to the lobby below No more would he listen, for I think he did know
He stopped at the exit, and with nostrils flaring, attempted to manage a more regal bearing
He sniffed and he growled as he walked away mumbling He unlocked his car with the keys he was fumbling

He climbed in that car where his dog had been penned

And pulled from a handicap spot once again

And I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight

“Daggonit that bastard, he just might be right.” 

Merry Christmas everyone!