’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the Mission…

image from Latin Bay Area

’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the Mission
The residents were fretting, and fearing eviction;
Their rents were sent to landlords with care
In hopes that the sheriff would not soon be there;

The techies were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Amazon deliveries danced in their heads;
And abuela in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had scarfed down burritos, and laid down to nap,

When out on Mission there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon shining down on the palm trees below
Lit up the street, which was empty of snow,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a grimy 14 bus, shaped like a tear.

Then out stepped the driver, clad in Muni brown,
I knew in a moment St. Nick was in town.
Faster than eagles, he gathered his crew,
As he whistled and shouted, his squad quickly grew;

“Now FEDEX! now, UBER! now, POSTMATES and ETSY!
On, AMAZON! on WISH!, on ONTRAK! and EBAY!
To Guerrero and Valencia and Potrero and Mission
Deliver your presents, this is your mission!”

With growls of engines and puffs of exhaust,
They rolled into the night, with GPS to avoid getting lost.
Left alone on the street with nothing to do,
Old St. Nick decided he was thirsty for a cold, frothy brew.

And then in a twinkling, Nick was at Beauty Bar,
Enjoying the hip-hop, and sipping a PBR.
Free of his sack, his work all outsourced,
Claus occupied a stool, and commenced to get sauced.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And the bartender gave him a long, curious look.
Deep in his cups, and sipping a tincture,
St. Nick started back and snarled “take a picture!”

For Santa was grumpy, and had been for years;
It was all he could do to keep from breaking into tears.
For the letters he got from kids in the Mission,
Broke his big heart, and filled him with pessimism.

The letters were sad, filled with longing and fear,
And a common lament: “we are not welcome here.”
I can deliver presents, thought Santa to himself,
But affordable housing is a tough gift to put on a shelf.

The jolly old elf stepped outside to smoke,
For now he was tipsy, and wanted a toke.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

Santa was high, and felt rather silly,
As he laughed, he shook like a bowl full of jelly.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon told the bouncer he had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
And conjured up five apartment buildings, stopping to smirk.
Then laying a finger aside of his nose,
He created five more, and the housing stock rose.

He sprang to his bus, swaying a little
And getting behind the wheel, gave a great whistle.
I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight
HAPPY CHRISTMAS DEAR MISSION, BUENOS NOCHES GOOD-NIGHT!