‘Twas
By Tiny Ruisch
Without any apologies to Clement Clarke Moore
‘Twas eleven days before Christmas, when all through the city
Not a Cajun was stirring, it was such a pity.
At the Broadmoor gym there was a great party,
Even Tiny was there. He was such a smarty.
The members had brought food and good stuff to eat,
And the club provided drinks and even some meat.
The room was decorated with ribbons and stuff,
Everyone thought it looked great sure enough.
President Pat was in such a good mood,
That she told all the members to start eating the food.
When out in the parking lot there arose such a clatter,
Everyone quieted down and stopped all their chatter.
Then I glanced at my tablet and what did I see?
A spritely little man, just as plain as could be.
With a little old driver, in charge of the kernel,
I knew in a moment it had to be Cal.
More rapid than alligators his cursors they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Barney! Now Inez! Now, Paul and Phil!
On, Juanita! On, Faye! On Richard and Bill!
To the top of the hard drive! Across the monitor display!
We’ve got to get moving on Florida Boulevard right away!
Turn the corner by Broadmoor, the Presbyterian church,
If you can’t find the gym, do an internet search.
Cal didn’t do any talking but went straight to his chore.
Of passing out the prizes the numbers called for.
And then Chandan recovered the use of her jaws,
And asked in a whisper, “Is that really Cal Claus?”
Everyone laughed as the party came to a close,
Then wondered if this story might be too verbose.
If you’re reading this in the newsletter, the Editor decided all right.
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night!”