Happy Merry Christmas!

A poem, submitted by Little Timmy, the hog badger, who has been on a internship since he was kicked out the orphanage last September.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, at our base jungle hut

Not a creature was stirring, not one feral mutt

The stockings were hung on the spirit house with pride,

In hopes that CNE Santa Ape soon would arrive;

The monkeys were nestled all snug in their trees;

With visions of dividers, drug busts and kidnappers- Chinese;

Chief Monkey with ‘krama, and ganja leaf cap,

Had just settled down for a post Black Panther nap,

When out from the rice fields there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bunk to check on the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Grabbed a K-59 and all petty cash

The moon was on the breast of banana trees high,

Which squeaked in the breeze like a midnight et’jai,

When what to my wondering eyes did it seem,

But a miniature tuk tuk pulled by an old Honda Dream,

I stood for a moment, my mouth wide agape,

I knew in a moment ‘twas CNE Santa Claus Ape.

More rapid than a Prius escaping from blame,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called out the names:

“Now, J-dog! now, Thevy! Up, out and git some!

On, Daddy MacComplaints Bob! on, Pedantry Gibbon!

To the top of the wat! to the ‘burbs of the Penh!

Now type away! type away! type away all again!”

As carrier bags that before the monsoon wind doth fly,

And catch up in trees, raised up to the sky;

So up to the rooftop the Santa Ape flew

With the remorque full of kambong, to share with the crew—

And then, in a twinkling, I heard a great shout

‘Just chucking you down some cheap local brewed stout’

As I drew in my head, and turned about-face,

Came down from the sky some Black Panther; moi case.

I gathered the cans that had spilled on the floor,

And the Great Ape flung down a bag full of tak kor;

A bottle of sra he had flung from his back,

‘It might be methanol, so give it to Daddy Mac’.

He sat back in his saddle, kickstarted the Honda,

‘Why don’t you stop for a drink?’ did I wonder

He stretched an arm like an apsara dancer,

And pondered a while, afore he gave his answer,

‘I’d love to get down, but rules due to COVID-19,

Mean I’d spent 14 whole days in hotel quarantine’

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

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

*with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore

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