not a creature was stirring, not even the houseguest.
No stockings were hung by the chimney this time,
no need for a chimney in the southernmost clime.
Tourists were nestled all snug in their beds,
while tunes from the Conch Train danced in their heads.
Mama in her Kino's and I in bare feet,
settled down with mojitos for a sweet Christmas treat.
When out in our harbor there rose such a clatter,
I sprang from my hammock to see what was the matter!
Out to the porch I stumbled through clutter,
cranked open the jalousie and threw up the shutter.
The moon through the palm trees beamed galore,
and gave a luster of midday to the sailboats offshore.
When what to my wondering eyes shoud appear,
but a minature sleigh and eight tiny Key Deer.
With a little old driver, so quick to honk,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Conch.
More rapid than powerboats his Key Deer flew,
and he whistled and shouted, and called to them too,
"Now Mira! Now Lewis! now Bethel and Curry!
on Wardlow! on McCoy, on Spottswood...HURRY!
From the end of North Roosevelt, to the end of Duval,
Now, dash away! dash away! Dash away all!"
Like banana leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with a sunset, up there in the sky.
Up to my widow's walk the Key Deer they flew,
with a sleigh full of mangos and St. Conch too!
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
the disco-like beat of each tiny hoof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around.
down the gumbo limbo, the old conch came with a bound.
On a shoulder he carried an iguana with warts,
he wore a souvenir T-shirt and little red shorts.
He wore flip flops and sported a palm frond chapeau,
carried a Pina Colada with an umbrella to go.
He was puffing away on a Cuban cigar,
blowing rings toward Havana, over the bar.
Even though his get-up made me say "Yikes"
His snowy white beard said "Hemingway Look-Alikes"
A bundle of coconuts he held with great care,
so he looked like a vendor down on Mallory Square.
His eyes how they twinkled, his slow Southern drawl,
Revealed he'd been bar-hopping down on Duval.
He worked fast and furious, without a flub-a,
Leaving little presents for each little bubba.
Then laying a finger aside his sunburned nose,
giving a big nod up the gumbo limbo he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh and his Key Deer they fled,
right up U.S. 1 toward Homestead.
And I heard him exclaim as he soared past Key West...
Merry Christmas to all, have a happy Conch night.
