Bar Belle: Night Before Thanksgiving

’Twas the night before Thanksgiving, when all through the bar
Not a creature was sober, not even Bill Maher;
We drunks hung out by the window with care,
In hopes that City Scoot soon would be there;

The sorority girls’ tatas were nestled all snug in their bras,
While visions of Jagerbombs danced in their heads;
And the mayor in his skivvies, and I in drunken thought,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s shot,

When out on the smokers’ patio there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the stool to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the blinds and hid my stash.

The neon glow on the breast of the new-fallen drunk girl
Gave the lustre of mid-day to projectile hurl,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature scooter, and a hipster with no canned beer,

With a little waif driver, so lively and cute,
I knew in a moment it must be City Scoot.
More rapid than my prom date his bike did come,
And he whistled, and shouted, and said, “You’re done.”

“Now, Bar Belle! Now, Mayor! Now, LEO staff and Dawne Gee!
On, Bill Maher! On, Yarmuth! On, Lisa and Marie!
To the front of the bar! To the front of the door!
I will dash away! Dash away! Dash away you all!”

And then, in a twinkling, I heard the scooter
The excitement revving like I was grabbing a hooter.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
In my face City Scoot came with a bound.

He was dressed all in black and yellow, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were not tarnished with ashes or soot;
A bundle of rides home, he definitely had my back,
And he looked like Johnny Depp when he scratched his man sack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! His ironic mustache how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, because it was fucking freezing and dreary!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the soulpatch of his chin was as unnecessary as my pinky toe;

The stump of a clove cigarette he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a friendly face and said he once lived in Queens,
And when he laughed, he barely shook because of his tight skinny jeans.

He was slender and limp, a lean, jolly Keebler elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, and spit up on myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his gear,
Soon gave me to know I had to finish my beer;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to my car,
And filled the trunk with his bike; then turned like a rock star,
And laying his finger inside his nose,
And giving a nod, up the naval cavity it rose;

He sprang into the driver’s seat, to his team gave a call,
And away we all flew like a yuppie to the mall.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove us out of sight
“Happy Thanksgiving to all, and to all a safe night!”