AVISIT FROM ST. NICK, Finale

For Part 1, click here.

For Part 2, click here.
For Part 3, click here.

A Visit From St. Nick

by Elena Santangelo

Final Installment

Led him to the kitchen and served up a plate,
He tasted it, snarfed it, then said, "Gee, it's late!
Just wrap up the rest‑‑I'll take it along."
His hands had stopped shaking‑‑he broke into song:

"The heck with the elf pipe, I've found a new vice,
God bless this falafel, it's sheer paradise."
I gave him the pot and a clean plastic spoon,
Then watched him fly off by the light of the moon.

The very next day I set up a website
For selling falafel, called "St. Nick's Delight,"
A homeopathic cure for addiction,
As well as every other affliction.

Now I'm so rich, an estate I inhabit,
And all from that night I broke Santa's bad habit.
Though I wonder if he didn't fake the whole thing‑‑
If this was the gift he'd intended to bring‑‑

So herein I thank him for my new career:
Merry Christmas, St. Nick, and a Happy New Year!

Happy Christmas to all, and to all,

Good Night,

Elena

A VISIT FROM ST. NICK, Part 3

For Part 1, click here.

For Part 2, click here.

A Visit From St. Nick

by Elena Santangelo

Part 3

Then from behind me I heard St. Nick swear.
"You've ruined my pipe, and I don't have a spare.
I've only just started my work on this night,
And without my smokes, I can't make the next flight."

His hands started shaking, his gestures all jerky;
I regretted at once making him go cold turkey.
Not that I cared if small tots got their toys‑‑
They get bored too soon and make much too much noise‑‑

But one thing was sure if St. Nick called it quits:
There'd be no exchanges on day twenty‑six,
And the country's economy was already stinking;
This fat elf must finish his work, I was thinking.

I said I'd run out to Walgreen's for a patch,
And some Nicorette Gum‑‑I'd buy a whole batch,
But Santa said 'twasn't a nicotine fix
He needed; the elves made a herb mix:

"One pipeful can keep me alert through my trip
And make me quite hyper, to 'round the world zip,
But now the pipe's gone, so I'd much rather doze‑‑"
At that point, another smell entered my nose:

The scent of falafel that's done through and through;
Asked Santa to join me‑‑the least I could do. . . 

Come back for the last installment on Christmas Eve.

A VISIT FROM ST. NICK, Part 2

For those of you who haven't read Part 1 yet, click here first.

A Visit from St. Nick

by Elena Santangelo

Part 2

I presumed 'twas St. Nick by his costume and hat,
And his sack full of toys, and the fact he was fat.
From a pipe in his teeth, a dense smoke, it arose,
So I couldn't see much of his eyes or his nose,

But his white beard was stained a nicotine‑yellow,
And ditto his teeth when he bid me "Hello!"
But worse was the odor, which hit me full force,
For the smoke from his pipe was the absolute source.

The green swirling fumes did set me to choking,
Yet I managed to gasp, "Santa!  What are you smoking?
Not that it matters, nor why you should do it,
You can't smoke in here‑‑That's all there is to it!"

And snatching his pipe from his droll bottom lip,
Away to the fish bowl, with breath held, I zipped;
I tossed the pipe in, then yanked my hands back,
So my pet piranhas could not on them hack.

The fish were unhappy with this new seaweed
And I promised them fresh meat in tomorrow's feed...

(Watch for Part 3 on Wednesday.)

A VISIT FROM ST. NICK

I'll post this in installments, every other day for the next week, so if you want the whole story, you have to come back.  And no, I won't apologize to Clement Moore.  I think he would have liked this version.

A Visit From St. Nick

by Elena Santangelo

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Came odors pervasive, like a day‑old dead mouse,
And stockings in need of a wash in some Tide,
And body parts soaking in formaldehyde.

My five cats were nestled, all snug in my bed,
Breath smelling of tuna and goose pate spread,
But all that was normal as I in my cap
Settled my brain for a long winter's nap‑‑

When into my room came an odor so awful,
It gave me a craving for Truckstop Falafel.
Away to the kitchen I flew like a flash
Tore open the chick peas and fried up some hash;

While it was sizzling, I opted to go
And find what that smell was‑‑I just HAD to know.
I looked out my window‑‑no skunks did appear,
But with my flamingos grazed tiny reindeer,

And a miniature sleigh was blocking my drive,
Which meant that St. Nick was soon to arrive
Or already had, so I ran to the den
Where my stocking hung next to the pit bull's playpen;

I hadn't a hearth; my chimney went straight
To my furnace‑‑heat rising through each hot air grate;
But that wasn't all that on this night arose,
From below came that odor to tickle my nose;

Then the grate was pushed back by an arm sleeved in red,
Which was followed by feet and a rump and a head...

(Stay tuned for Part 2.)