Illustrations by Laurel Holden
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ the towns,
Not a creature was stirring, not even the hounds;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of barbecue danc’d in their heads,
And Mama in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap-
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the 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.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, with briskets and beer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than beagles his sauces they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and call’d them
by name:
“Now! Salsa, now! Garlic, now! Curry, and Poblano,
“On! Chili, on! Cumin, on! Mustard and Diablo;
“To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
“Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As pine needles before the hurricane fly,
Twist in the wind and mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the sauces they flew,
With the sleigh full of ribs – and St. Nicholas too:
And then in a twinkling, I heard up above
The clatter and clang of a labor of love.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound:
He was dress’d in an apron, from his head to his foot,
And the front was all tarnish’d with grease marks and soot;
A sack full of ribs was flung on his back,
And he look’d like a smoker just opening his stack:
His eyes – how they twinkled! his dimples how merry,
His cheeks were like RedHot, his nose like a cherry;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pick he held tight in his teeth,
And the aroma of smoke hung around like a wreath.
He had a broad face, and a little round belly
That shook when he laugh’d, like hot soup in a deli:
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laugh’d when I saw him in spite of myself;
A dash of wasabi and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And laid out the ribs; then turn’d with a jerk,
And putting his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprung to his sleigh as fast as a missile,
And away they all flew to the Pig and the Whistle:
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight-
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night. PS
