A Visit from St. Nicholaus

‘Twas the night before Christmas, no reindeer in sight

When a low rumbling sound split the still night.

With black rubber soles and a rugged red coat,

St. Nick rides a Harley and has no need for oats.

Fur-trimmed red leather from head to toe,

The Harley’s bright chrome reflecting the snow.

The saddlebags overflowed with all kinds of toys

Labeled for delivery to good girls and boys.

His eyes how they twinkled like headlights so bright,

The beard of his chin was glowing bright white.

The stump of his stogie clenched tight in his teeth,

Puffed plumes of smoke in the shape of a wreath.

He had a broad face and a little round gut,

And the bar and shield tattooed on his butt.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

Like a fat back tire right off of the shelf.

With a wink of his eye and a nod of his Kevlar,

I was stunned and speechless—nothing rhymes with Kevlar.

Santa spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.

He nibbled a cookie and swallowed the stout

Fired up the Harley, and headed back out.

Up the chimney he rose as he cracked the throttle,

You could hear him scream for a nitrous bottle.

Then I heard him exclaim as he rode out of sight,

Merry Christmas to all, let’s ride Harleys tonight!