With profound apologies to Clement Clarke Moore, his heirs, assigns and estates attorneys.
The Month Before Christmas
Twas the month before Christmas, from near and from far,
Our neighbours from Washington packed up their car.
With mom navigating, and me at the wheel,
Thanksgiving in Whistler seemed such a good deal.
The turkey was packed in our new SUV,
Canadian dollars seemed practically free.
The children and their friends, had spirits that soared,
At least for ten minutes, until they got bored.
Then there, up ahead, all the traffic had stopped,
The border was looming, just crawling with cops.
I opened the door, stood up and I looked,
While those all around me just gave up and cooked.
With new resignation, a sense of despair,
Cars simply werent moving, it seemed so unfair.
We inched slowly forward, while closer we came,
I seethed and I cursed that most hated of names.
OSAMA! YO MAMA! you TERRORIST trash!
AL-QAIDA! You hide, but well settle your hash!
To the end of the earth! To the end of all time!
Well hunt your sad asses! Well kill you like swine!
And then, after hours, the border wed passed,
Converting to metric, I gave it the gas.
Through sprawling Vancouver, and on up the sound,
I drove with a purpose and chewed up the ground.
Past Big Orange Bridge, over twisty two lane,
I drove ever faster, not feeling the pain.
Past Alice and Daisy, past Brandywine Falls,
The traffic got heavy, we all clenched our jaws.
Somewhere, well before the one long passing lane,
We came to a full stop, the end of the game.
I walked up ahead and joined in with the throng,
We looked at each other, "You know whats gone wrong?"
Some silly-assed fool tried to pass one last truck,
He didnt quite make it, now traffic is stuck.
Ambulances, fire trucks, helivac too,
Were all up there trying to free that poor fool.
We waited and waited, we fretted and fumed,
We froze by the light of the silvery moon.
We opened some crackers, we broke out the beer,
So near yet so far, oh it all seemed so queer.