Living in a car means I have a lot of time to think, and come up with silly things like “Twas the night before Christams, the Van Dweller Edition”!
Twas the night before Christmas, when all around the car
Not a creature was stirring, except a drunk stumbling home from the bar;
The stockings were hung on the dash vents with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The parking break was pulled and the windows were shaded;
In effort to keep the van dweller’s privacy from being invaded;
And mamma on the left, and I on the right,
We slept in a car that was a bit too tight,
When out on the street there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Into the front seat I flew like a flash,
Tore off the window covers and threw up the sash.
The streetlamps shone on the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to cars parked below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
More rapid than meter maids his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the hood! to the roof racks above!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away with a shove!”
As cars speeding by in the middle of the night,
When the old man called, they quickly took flight;
So up to the car hood the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the sun roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Through the car vents St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, as he sat in our car,
And his clothes were all tarnished with bug guts and road tar;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a hitchhiker just opening his pack.
His eyes were like high beams! his dimples, like potholes!
His cheeks were like stop signs, lit up beneath light poles!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a compact parking space,
And the beard on his chin looked like snow on his face;
The stump of a pipe created little puff plumes,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like diesel fumes;
He had a broad face and a little round midsection
That shook when he laughed, like an idling engine.
He was chubby and plump, almost too big for our van,
And I laughed when I saw him trying to stand;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but reached into his stash,
And filled all the stockings; and left gifts on the dash,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, through the car vents he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, gave the reins a crack,
And away they all flew from the Yakima roof rack.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
Poem by Clement Clarke Moore – Adapted by Chris Tarzan Clemens 2014
Twas the night before Christmas, Van Dweller Edition
More van dwelling posts here.