Blinded

Clay Hurtubise

I’m going to try to persuade you to do something. What I want you to do can only help you. I want you to have an open mind and to show you why it could be helpful.

 I’ll tell you a little story:

Twas the night before Christmas

When all through the house,

Not a creature was resting,

Not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung

 By the chimney without care,

And there were no hopes

 That Saint Nicholas soon would be there.

The children weren’t nestled

Nor snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar plums

Danced out of their heads.

And mamma in her kerchief,

And I in my cap,

Had not yet settled

Our brains for a long winter nap.

When out on the driveway

There arose such a clatter,

I heard someone shout:

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

Away to the window,

I threw my wife like a flash,

She tore open the shutters,

And smashed up the sash.

With our brains being so robust,

  Lively and quick,

We knew at once

That this was someone mimicking Saint Nick.

Next day I awoke

And told all the folks

Of the encounter of mine.

They laughed,

They roared,

They sissed,

They booed,

They shouted out:

“What are you,

Blind?”

I could not see

Why they shouted at me,

For all I did

 Was make an old man flee.

Then something streaked

Through the middle of my mind,

And I said:

“No, no, it can’t really be!”

They shouted back:

“Yes, it really was,

It really was,

It really was Saint Nick!”

I could tell that these words

Were not lies.

Oh why,

Why did I close my eyes?