A New York Christmas Eve

I don’t know how Jesus was so forgiving. Did he ever hold a grudge? I have been frustrated at a friend who I recently loaned money to. Now I understand the principal of not lending money that you can’t afford to get back. I just wasn’t pleased with how they handled the situation and not giving it back when they said they would. So I have decided I won’t loan anymore money to people. I have to just give it away or I will always be irritated. You also have to know people. If the person has a bad track record with money and paying people back then why should you expect they will do different by you? Because you’re friends? Yeah right. That’s like the girl who dates a guy who was a cheater in the past and thinks they are the different girl. Boo yeah right. You are not different.

Don’t you hate it when you have an ailment and the day you go to the doctor it mysteriously disappears only to reappear after you leave? That’s what happened to me. I have guests visiting so now no crackheads want to beg, all the homeless people checked into shelters and no African music is playing on my block. It inspired me to write a poem.

Twas the night before New Years, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even Roger the mouse.
The stockings were hung by the fire escape with care,

In hopes that St Nick the pimp would soon be there.

Jaime and Dez were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of seeing real trees danced in their heads.
And mamma in her scarf, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the street there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew in a rush,

Tore open the curtains (wait we don’t have curtains) and blew off the dust.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature crackhead with a bottle of beer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St Nick the pimp.

More rapid than pigeons his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Crackhead! now, Rat! Now, cross dresser and Vixen!

On, black girl! On, Spanish girl! drunkard put on your mittens!

To the top of the roof! To the top of the wall!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild wind fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

So up to the roof-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of bootlegs, and a pimp named Nick too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the fire escape Nick came with a bound.

This negro was dressed in all fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and dirt.

A bundle of bootlegs he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-so glossed over! His dimples how merry!

His teeth were like butter, his lips like a blackberry!

His droll soup cooler lips were drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face and a big beer belly,

That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, with a butt big as mine,

And I laughed when I saw him, until he pulled out his nine!

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 went straight to his work,

And stole all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the fire escape he rose!

He sprang to the subway station, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all ran like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,

"Happy New years to all you suckers, and to all a good-night!"