Today’s poem

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

’Twas the night before Christmas, just alone in the flat, Except for the budgie, the dog and the cat. Then there came a great noise from up on the roof, I smiled as I remembered it was all waterproof. Then in staggered Santa, I was sure it was him, But I also thought then that he needed to slim. I realised then that he had on no suit, Though his candy stripe Y-fronts did look rather cute. ‘It’s the moths and the mice, have reduced me to this. If the children wake up they’ll laugh, or worse, hiss. Those perishing moths even ate my spare suit, While the mice had a feast on my belt and each boot.’ I thought for second and said: ‘Just sit down.’ And I used the spare duvet as a huge dressing gown. I quickly located my old sewing machine. There wasn’t any oil so I used margarine. Some red velvet curtains, for the charity shop, They had a few moth holes, but just at the top. With my trusty tape measure, I took his dimensions, Though the sizes I needed caused me much apprehension. But I had enough curtain to finish the task, So I made a nice pocket for his vacuum flask. With a white sheet for edging, the job was complete, And then I remembered the old lad’s bare feet. From the bin I recovered our old rubber mat, With a knife and some superglue, that was soon that. Santa stood up and he looked down at his suit, Then retied the laces on his rubber left foot. ‘That’s great,’ Santa said, ‘Now it’s back to my sleigh, I haven’t much time until Christmas Day.’ He ran up the stairs, taking three at a time, And I’m sure the old man was whistling ragtime. Next day, Christmas morn, I saw a big stack, I wondered just how he squeezed that in his sack. I opened the parcel that was addressed just to me, And there was a new suit, and what else could I see? You can’t accuse Santa of being at all mean. I now had a brand-new sewing machine. John McCutcheon, Leven, Fife.