‘Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through the bar,
Not a creature was stirring.
(We left him in the car.)

And I in my jeans,
That are torn in the rear,
And the wife in her sweats,
Met some friends for a beer.

When up on my brew,
There arose such a lather,
That the barkeep bent down,
To see what was the matter.

“It’s the foam of the season,”
He said with a wink,
As his tip hit the top of the bar
With a clink.

Then the man dressed in red,
(Which was purely by chance,)
Put his hands in the air,
As if ready to dance.

“You see,” he said waving,
At the foam in the mug,
“It’s rather like giving
A kiss or a hug.”

And then he continued,
(Though not without reason,)
“It happens to friends,
A lot in this season.”

“The drink that you pour,
For your very best friends,
Is poured with good will,
And the head never ends.”

“The meaning,” he said,
Is that loved ones are near.”
And their love can be weighed
By the head of their beer.”

It was then that I noticed,
His white scraggly beard,
I’d seen it before,
(And I felt kind of weird,)

On the guy in the mall,
With the kids on his lap,
In the poem: “something, something,
For a long winter’s nap.”

Then I knew all at once,
Who this guy really was:
My bartender, Kris,
But whos last name was Claus.

He saw that I noticed,
So without any haste,
He grabbed at, and tightened,
The belt on his waist.

Then he turned on his heel,
To head toward the door,
In a cloud of gold dust,
Old Saint Nick was no more.

The moral, we knew,
After pondering that night,
Came over my head,
Like a bulb full of light.

Virginia was right,
When you get on the sauce,
The spirits will lead you,
To see Santa Clause.

But just because seeing him,
Leads to no ends,
Doesn’t mean those around you,
Aren’t the greatest of friends.

-Steve McClelland
1994

This was an original poem that I wrote in 1994 and found again 21 years later only because I had printed out a copy. The original on the computer was lost long ago. I suppose I wrote it either after spending the night before Christmas Eve with friends sharing a few beers. Or perhaps I wrote it beforehand, in anticipation of reading aloud to them at some point in the night. I don’t actually remember if I ever did. I do remember telling myself that I had a lot of fun that night and that we should make it a tradition to meet up with friends on this night. Out-of-towners could come in a day early, and there were no real obligations yet to be with family. Honestly, I don’t know that we ever did it again, except maybe once or twice.

As I read it back now I am not happy with the ending and think that it’s in need of a rewrite. Maybe in another 20-or-so years.