'Twas the night before Christmas, and deep inside the school,
A man toiled downstairs, as he put away tools.
The white lights were hung along rooftops with care,
So bright NASA shuttles flew home by its glare.
The frosty air bit him, and reddened his cheeks,
As he pondered the madness of recent weeks.
Ferrying children packed tight into SUVs,
Who stormed the mall, cavorting like monkeys with fleas.
They rambled through Spencers, and they sauntered through Sears,
They left the shopgirl in Hot Topic in tears.
Such madcap excess to this man was foreign
This spree he deigned neither to survive, nor win.
He ambled through slick snow and unlocked the car;
He had visions of cold ones in a dark bar.
They rode home laughing, voices all a twitter.
The back of the car was covered in litter.
Through the upstairs window, he caught a flash of white
He stared up again, sighed; just a trick of the light.
Christmas preparations could be such a bore
With great dismay and defeat, he trudged through the door.
He dodged them and snuck off for a well-deserved nap
They ambushed him and waved rolls of shiny gift wrap.
”Of all the friggin’ things ta get stuck with,” he sighed.
His dim hopes for some rest curled up, withered and died.
The children smiled as he rolled, wrapped and snipped coils
Of ribbon, pasted bows, made out tags and toiled.
Just as he questioned the worth of the season,
They chucked him for Batman, with Liam Neeson.
“Sure,” he growled, “run off, kids, an’ just see if I care!”
He gave the tow’ring stack of gifts a stony glare.
Jubes nabbed him. “Wolvie, can you bring in the cocoa?”
“What?” he barked, “more sugar? Ya gotta be loco!”
From the hallway he was watched by shining blue eyes,
As he trimmed the fir tree, and hung the star up high.
He had one chore to finish ‘fore the night was through.
He pondered the wrappings, choosing a roll of blue.
Logan tramped up the stairs, a man with a mission!
He chuckled at mistletoe hung up for kissin’.
He flicked on the desk lamp to chase off the gloom;
He searched for the prize hidden deep in his room.
He dug in the closet for a small velvet box
Yes, no one suspected; he’d been sharp as a fox.
The stump of a stogie clamped tight in his teeth
Burned down to cinders as he tacked up the wreath.
He dusted his chamber and made up the bed.
He laid out throw pillows, lit candles of red.
The box was wrapped in blue foil with such loving care.
With hopes that his fine woman, ‘Ro, soon would come there.
There was a knock on the door, ending his musing.
She’d come for him, fine with the place of his choosing.
“Logan,” she purred low as he opened the door.
She glowed like a seraph, an angel of yore.
She tapped his note card against his chest and kissed him;
He’d been busy all day, and oh, how she’d missed him.
His throat hitched as she opened it; then she cried.
“Ro, sweet baby, will ya be my lovin’ bride?”
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