Ray St. Louis
12/20/95
BETWEEN THE LINES
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the state
not a snowflake was falling; and Santa was late.
No snowfalls, no flurries, no blizzard-like gales.
Just some snowbirds from Jersey laid out like beached whales.
At the malls people scurried for last minute gifts,
while store-window reindeer stood in plastic snowdrifts.
A Santa Claus stand-in sat kids on his knee,
while his helpers took pictures for Grandma to see.
And though he appeared full of mirth, you can bet
underneath his red suit he was breaking a sweat.
While at the food vendors, no chestnuts were roasting.
Just some hot-boiled peanuts, and some hot dogs were toasting.
No Jack Frost a-nippin', no sleigh bells a-ringin'.
No egg nog a-sippin', no carolers a-singin'.
Yes, a Florida white Christmas would have been swell,
but it stood not the chance of a snowball in hell.
So off went I searching for true Christmas Spirit,
for this eve I ne'er felt I was anywhere near it.
I got into my sleigh of bright chrome and steel,
and took up the reins that were shaped like a wheel.
And instead of twelve reindeer, though that would have been good,
more than 300 horses were under the hood.
Their names were not Dasher nor Dancer, I fear;
nor Comet or Cupid nor anything near.
I called out their names though it took me some time.
especially since they all had to rhyme.
On Hubcap, on Headlight, on Piston and Lifter.
On Wiper, on Blinker, on Tranny and Shifter.
On Fanbelt, on Seatbelt, on Sparkplug and coil.
On Rotor, on Muffler, on Thirty-weight Oil.
And so on I called them, all three hundred plus.
Then off went we flying and kicking up dust.
We flew down the highway and into the town
to see if the Spirit of Christmas was 'round.
I looked in a house where a party was roaring;
mostly eating and drinking, it seemed somewhat boring.
In another the people watched a show on TV;
there were singers and dancers and a fifty-foot tree.
It was Christmas in Vegas, the production was slick.
The elves were all showgirls, Brad Pitt was St. Nick.
The finale was awesome with fireworks and lights,
and sky-diving Santas, Three Wise Men in tights.
Then out came Madonna, red hooters a blinkin';
the time had arrived to move on, I was thinkin'.
And just when I thought it was not to be found,
that the Spirit of Christmas was nowhere around,
Up in the sky there appeared a great star,
way off in the distance; I got back in the car.
I drove down the street toward this beacon from Heaven;
it hovered o'er Pickwick, or a 7-eleven.
So inside I went thinking this must be it;
in here will I find the true Christmas Spirit.
"Merry Christmas," said I to the store attendant.
"Merry Christmas," said he in a foreign accent.
I asked him how was it, this Christmas Eve night,
that he had to be working; it didn't seem right.
He said, "Not to worry; I really don't mind.
Someone's got to do it, and good help's hard to find.
"You see, I'm the manager of this little store;
I really couldn't make someone else do this chore.
"Besides I am Hindu, and we don't celebrate
the feast day of Christmas, though for you it seems great."
And lo and behold, I knew that was the key
as I gazed at the unselfish soul before me.
The Spirit of Christmas is not a bright mall,
nor a show on TV, nor an ivy-decked hall.
There is but one place that it doth reside;
the Spirit of Christmas comes from inside.
He stood in the entrance, the door held ajar,
and gave me a wave as I got in the car.
And as I departed these words he did say,
"Merry Christmas to all, and have a nice day.”