Just a little something I came up with back in 2013.  Enjoy.

The Night Before Christmas… in the ‘Hood.

by

Mark Anthony Tierno

(with apologies to Clement Moore)

Twas the night before Xmas, when all through the ‘hood,

  Not a body was stirring, even if they could.

The winos were sleeping by the bar out of luck,

  In the hopes that some passerby would give them a buck.

The Hookers were nestled, all snug with their Johns,

  while counting the money they’d made from their cons.

And dealers in the street selling their crack,

  Had just settled down for a nap on a sack.

When out on the street their arose such a clatter,

  I bolted the door and hoped it would matter.

Away to the window I ran like the Flash,

  Slammed down the bars, with a resounding crash.

The sirens and spot lights, on the side street below,

  All surrounded an odd sight, stuck there in the snow.

Because what did I see the cop had pulled over,

  But a miniature sleigh, pulled by a pitbull named Rover.

With a stumbling driver all covered in red,

  I thought for a moment, it must be that drunk, Fred.

But before he could say a word, the cop pointed his gun,

  And shouted and screamed, and told him not to run.

“I’ll read you your rights, just lay down on the ground,

  There’s other policemen, coming from all around.

You’ve the right to remain silent, the right to a trial,

  but from the looks of you, you’re not sane by a mile.”

“Let me explain,” the man he then said,

“I am Santa, not that drunk named Fred.

My reindeer are out, all sick with the plague,

this dog here I borrowed, now don’t make me beg.”

And then in a twinkling, he leaped for the roof,

  “Here, I’ll jump down the chimney as proof.”

But the cop drew a bead, and fired out a shot,

  Thinking this guy was just hyped up on pot.

He was dressed all in fur, from his toes to his head,

  But beneath that he wore, a flack jacket instead.

He stumbled and turned, and from the roof gave a jump,

  and landed on his sack, looking much like a lump.

His eyes were all bleary,  a hand to his head,

  But at least it was good, that he still wasn’t dead.

The cop came over and put cuffs on his hands,

  “I hope you don’t have, any near plans.”

A boot to the head, then Santa broke free,

  And down the street and straight into a tree.

As he staggered back and tried to chuckle it off,

  A mugger came by and could not help but scoff.

“You’re fat and you’re old, and you’re dressed like a clown,

  Walk around like that, you won’t make it in town.”

But Santa was determined and turned with a wink,

  But upon what he saw, his hopes they did sink.

His sleigh was all covered, in graffiti and slang,

  A most unsavory sight, put there by a gang.

His bundle was empty, the toys broken and torn,

  So finally even Santa did feel very forlorn.

He stumbled to his sleigh, to the dog gave a bark,

  And away he did fly, then called down to the dark.

“This city has lost it, it’s very perverse,

   So I leave you with this, my Christmas Day curse.”