African American Night Before Christmas

Holiday Poems


It was the night before

Christmas and all through

the crib nothing was under

the tree; not even a rib.


My ol' lady and the kids

were in dream city, I figure

that pretty good. I hope

this late that be true

for the rest of the hood.


Then, damn! What's all that

racket up on the ceilin'?

I'm getting that get my

gun creepy somebody

breakin' in feelin'.


But no, it's just Santa

and his eight deer crew on

a crash in. (Why come I forget

at least one reindog whenever

I list 'em?)


I slipped up the back stairs,

had to check out his ride.

Nice wheels, St. Nicky; chrome

rim-blades spinnin' and sparklin'

front and back sleigh side.


Red and white ain't good colors

fo a phat low-rider saint. Gone

be a tight fit down my furnace

with a overstuffed saddle bag.

I betcha he cain't.







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