Bayou Bard 2014
Santa’s Little Helpers
‘Twas the night before Christmas in Bayou St. John
Where no creatures were stirring, on-shore or beyond.
As they nestled together all snug in their beds
Bungled passes and missed tackles danced in folks’ heads
And if anything hung from the chimneys with care
It was hope, clinging onto a wing and a prayer.
With a final Hail, Mary and sad Good Night, Moon
The ex-senator crashed as the whole city crooned
Not Blue but Red Christmas. The doctor who won,
With scalpel in hand, dreamt of more cuts to come.
And in dreams, Vitter’s bid to be governor was hampered
At town hall events where he wore only Pampers!
Asleep were the chief of police who retired
Just in time to miss scandals, his cops who weren’t fired,
And the folks they forsook. Each and every one braced
For the next blow we’d take for the debt the State faced
Thanks to Jindal, whom nobody saw anymore.
As we settled to sleep on the crescent-shaped shore
In our City that Care had forgot, it would seem
We would do best to block out two thousand fourteen.
We had battened the hatches on Bayou St John,
With the house alarm set and the sensor lights on,
When a bellow resounded: “Whoa, Prozac! Stop, Paxil!
Cymbalta and Zoloft, steer clear of the axle!”
To the landing I flew and posthaste to the door
Where, what do I see gathered out on the shore?
“It’s a new team,” says Santa. “I needed a lift,
And this is the group that showed up for the shift.”
But his tale takes Kris Kringle so long to complete,
We are forced to plop down next to Lexapro’s feet.
“It all started,” he says, “when the elves wouldn’t ride:
They assumed, at the border, they’d all be denied!
Elves of color were sure they’d be taken for thugs
As they climbed from dark chimneys; the girls feared date-drugs
Would be snuck in the milk left with cookies and cake.
(That Doc Huxtable pill was a tough one to take.)
Then it snowballed. They asked, “Could our sleigh disappear
Like the plane from Malaysia that vanished this year?”
“In the uppermost skies, could Ebola glom on?”
“Could our party be kidnapped by Boko Haram?”
“What of ground-to-air missiles above the Ukraine?”
“Or an ISIS attack?” “Or, suppose we’re detained
By CIA agents who torture and beat us?”
But, then, guess what happened? —The deer that would lead us
Gave notice! Beset by depression and panic,
They feared they might plunge us into the Atlantic.
I phoned a temp agency Rudolph approved
To request cheerful deer that could fill some big hooves.
On the plus side, they sing the song “Happy” all day
Which encourages us—but they can’t lead a sleigh!
Yet despite two left feet guiding each of those deer
They can clap—and it works, since it got the sleigh here!
In a blink, Serotonin kicks in and they rise
Climbing over our banks through the overcast skies;
As they bump through the clouds on a course to Havana,
“Happiness is the truth” sing the reindeer and Santa.
© S. Lyman New Orleans 23 December 2014