Twas the Night Before Christmas (in the West Loop of Chicago)

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the condo,

Not a creature was stirring, not even our neighbor, Yolando.

The stockings were hung on the fireplace with care,

In hopes that Baby Jude, soon would be there,

The Bennets were nestled all snug in their bed,

While visions of early labor, danced in their heads,

And mamma in her sweatpants, and I in my Bears cap,

Had just settled our brains, for a 3rd trimester'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 like a flash,

Tore open the shutters, scared the hell out of Ash.

The snowman with breasts made of new-fallen snow,

That some drunk guys just built, was 6 floors below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a rickshaw full of fans, wearing all Blackhawks gear,

With a young, bearded driver, so lively and fast,

He jolted past the Homeless men hailing cabs as they passed,

More rapid than eagles the Homeless they came,

And he whistled and shouted and called them by name!

Now Leon! Now Ronnie! Now Lenny and Jamal!

On, Ringo! On, Georgie! On John and on Paul!

To the corner of Belmont! To the corner of Halsted!

Now dash away! Dash away! To Boystown with you all!

As dry leaves that before a Chicago thunderstorm fly,

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

But into the Loop, the rickshaw it flew,

with cab full of drunks, and some homeless guys too,

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

The prancing and pawing, of the cab hailers’ feet,

As I tilted my head and was still looking down,

Here stumbled a young woman, on Madison, east bound,

She was dressed all in fur, from her head to her shoes,

And her clothes were designer; from Dior to Jimmy Choo.

A giant Louis V she had flung on her back,

And she looked like a cougar, straying from her pack.

Her eyes how they twinkled! Her waist was so teeny,

Her cheeks were like roses, from too many martini's.

Then I spotted a young man, strutting below,

His Spencer Pratt beard was as white as the snow.

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

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad with him, and she had a round belly,

She shook and she screamed with obscenities yelling,

She was chubby and plump, about as tall as an elf,

And I laughed when I saw her, throw into traffic; his cell

A twitch of his eye and tilt in his head,

Soon gave me to know that jail was ahead.

He spoke not a word, but went straight for her hair,

And tried to pull hard, while onlookers stared.

Then it ended quite quickly, with a middle finger in the air,

He ran into the Billygoat, like he was never there!

She jumped into a rickshaw, and to her girlfriends gave a yell,

And away they all flew like drunken bats out of hell,

But I heard her exclaim, as they pedaled out of sight,

“Off to WestEnd! We’re getting hammered tonight!”