uthinki Considered Opinion?
‘Twas the time before Christmas, yet nearly all thro’ 2020
Not only stirring creatures, but viruses, problems a-plenty;
Stockings where hung like chads, courting interpretive care,
Hopes aside, for most it had been a turducken of a year;
People were quarantined, in lockdown, nestled not snug in their beds,
While masks wrapped many faces with visions of stopping the spread
Although some stood vigil without ‘kerchief, and clutching a MAGA cap,
For they could not settle their brains, it was more nightmare than nap–
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Carollers singing of the colour of lives that matter.
Away from the window some drew, fearing its smash,
Was it rebellion or looting, and what of government cash?
Deficits to the moon seemed the solution to show,
Gold had lustre, interest rates near naught and below;
When, the reflection of frankness in a mirror did appear,
But money was tight, could people afford Christmas this year,
With signs of “Santa Please Stop Here for 14 Days”, neither lively nor quick,
It was known in that moment that saving Christmas must be done by St. Nick.
More rapidly problems of supply and tariffs they came,
And the Grinch, or Krampus, or call’d by any other name:
Now! Rudolph’s nose! Red and aglow, now! Did shortness of breath vex ‘em?
On! Masks, on! Swabs, in! Self-isolated, tested, time and a false-positive fixed them;
At the top of his game, Santa alternatively considered digital delivery but made the call!
For he knew in an instant! Scrooge wasn’t mean! He was simply socially distant from all!
As long before a flight plan was booked early to fly,
When met with an obstacle, costs mount to the sky;
So with unprecedented contact tracing, and flattened curves, to ensure cases never flew,
With a sleigh full of toys, or via apps, or contactless delivery – St. Nicholas thought of too:
And then in a twinkling like a falling star, came the descent from the roof
The injection of patriotic bleach sarcastically offered if one needed proof.
As each drew their conclusions, and sought to turn things around,
Down the chimney, St. Nicholas came with a bound:
He was dress’d all in a biohazard suit, covered from his head to his foot,
And after each home, his old clothes sanitised, burnt to ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys, delivery and streaming services were flung from the front to the back,
Peddled plus prime subscriptions, start for free; quit, then there’s fine print to unpack…
His eyes, how they narrowed! His principles: be wary,
His offering smelling of roses, but thorns are sharp, scary;
His droll little mouth hidden by a mask tied up from behind like a bow,
And sure he had a beard, but was he asymptomatic, who was to know;
Stumped, there came a heavenly voice with the words held in His teeth,
And with it an answer, knowing at Easter many would lay down a wreath.
Broadly Ovid wrote “COVID-IXX MAS” as some sort of numeral, told to thee
That Jesus expected a Roman funeral is an explanation too poetically fishy:
Chubby and plump vials of vaccines should soon fly off the shelves,
And people washed their hands yet again in spite of themselves;
Appeared a winking tree covered in tinsel, wearing a wishful star on its head
Soon gave the message that all should know, to find the silver lining instead.
Speak not a word ill, of a year better leapt than given an extra day of work,
And filled with visions of everything, politely, turned into the proverbial jerk,
And to whatever beliefs may be held, or held aside, as things come to a closing
And give each a nod, for good can still be found in the human spirit if so chosen.
Sprung like a sleigh, many doling out these last hours whilst wetting the whistle,
And the bad shall pass, for much time has freedom carried a dried thistle:
But heard exclaim, as reindeer (or four horsemen) drove out of sight–
Merry Christmas to all, and to all of 2020 good night!
