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‘Twas the night after Christmas and all through the trailer, the
beer had gone flat and the pizza was staler. The tube socks
hung empty, no candies or toys and I was camped out on my
old Lay-Z-Boy.
The kids they weren’t talking to me or my wife, the worst
Christmas they said they had had in
their lives. My wife couldn’t argue
and neither could I, so I watched
TV and my wife, she just cried.
When out in the yard the dog
started barkin’, I stood up and
looked and I saw Sheriff Larkin. He
yelled, “Roy I am sworn to uphold
the laws and I got a complaint here
from a feller named Claus.”
I said, “Claus, I don’t know nobody
named Claus, and you ain’t taking
me in without probable cause.”
Then the Sheriff he said, “The man
was shot at last night.” I said, “That
might have been me, just what’s he
look like.”
The Sheriff replied, “Well he’s a
jolly old feller, with a big beer gut
belly, that shakes when he laughs
like a bowl full of jelly. He sports
a long beard, and a nose like a
cherry.” I said, “Sheriff that sounds like my wife’s sister
Sherri.”
“It’s no time for jokes Roy” the Sheriff he said. “The man I’m
describing in dressed all in red. I’m here for the truth now,
it’s time to come clean. Tell me what you’ve done, tell me
what you’ve seen.”
Well I started to lie then I thought what the hell, it wouldn’t
have been the first time that I’ve spent New Years in jail. I
said, “Sheriff it happened last night about ten, and I thought
that my wife had been drinking again.”
When she walked in from work she was as white as a ghost.
I thought maybe she had seen one of them UFO’s. But she
said that a bunch of deer had just flown over her head, and
stopped on the roof of our good neighbour Red.
Well I ran outside to look and the sight made me shudder,
a freezer full of venison standing right on Red’s gutter. Well
my hands were a shakin’ as I grabbed my gun, when outta
Red’s chimney this feller did run.
And slung on his back was this bag over flowin’. I thought
he stolen Red’s stuff while old Red was out bowling’. So I
yelled, “Drop fat boy, hands in the air!” But he went about
his business like he hadn’t a care.
So I popped a warning shot over his head. Well he dropped
that bag and he jumped in that sled. And as he flew off I
heard him extort, “That’s assault with intent Roy, I’ll see ya
in court.”
‘Twas the Night
After Christmas
11 Havelock Street, St. Clair,
Port of Spain, Trinidad
1 (868) 628-9780, 628 - 7157, 622-9373
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A Complex Language
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