’Twas the night before Christmas, an evening quite murky,And not a creature was stirring, not even our turkey;
For Tom was tied up near the stoplight’s bright glare,
By an ill-tempered psycho who’d fled to his lair.
The Nets coach was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of utility poles danced in his head;
And J-Lo in her kerchief, with a new stalker flap,
And our wily coyote settled down for a nap;
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed getting madder and madder.
Away to the window I flew in a dash,
Screaming “Hey Lauer pipe down, or your head I will bash!”
And it was then I did see in the new-fallen snow,
Fresh piles of horse poop in the gloaming below,
And then, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a gigantic new truck filled with cases of cheer,
With a huge, massive driver at whom I did gawk,
For I knew in a moment it must be Dave Hawke.
More rapid than eagles his curses they came,
For Dave, like the rest of us, knew who was to blame:
“These flashers and dancers and prancers and vixens!
I’ll vomit, it’s stupid, and none of it fits in!”
And from the top of my porch, from the top of my wall,
He begged them to “go away, go away all!”
Then off in his brand new truck we did fly,
To overcome these obstacles, or give it a try,
For it was Christmas in Water Mill, though the one we once knew,
It was gone with the wind, and our bank closed up, too!
And then, in a twinkling, where the richer folk rent,
Was a raging Lederfest in a sub-legal tent!
Shaking our heads, we were turning around,
And saw twelve dancing sailors who were Wilzig home bound.
Then Madonna flew by in a Jaguar brand new,
But thank God almighty, she was just passing through;
And Dave, here longer than I’m able to track,
Cried out to the night, “Oh, I want my town back!”
His eyes – how they darkened! As he sat on the hood,
And I said, “Hey, chin up, there’s still plenty of good!
The Middlekauffs left tracks in the new-fallen snow,
But their church still shines bright in the heavenly glow,
A full house for Drew Birdsall without even trying,
Julie Bosch did a marathon without even crying!
The Rose Hill murderer his maker will meet,
While our saintly lost friend now has her own street.
And our celebs, be assured, have not all come undone;
Hawkeye’s at work making science more fun!
And listen to this, plump, jolly old friend,
Our beloved Mill Pond is now on the mend.
The Parrish plopped down, a lovely new base,
For the paintings of Pollock and Porter and Chase.
New beach grass was planted, I saw someone wrote
And you can park at the Halseys without a U-boat!
And you, I must say, as I happened to read,
Were honored by cops for many good deeds.”
He sprung to his truck, with a grumble or two,
And away he sped off, off to where no one knew.
But I heard him exclaim, “Ah screw it, you’re right –
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”
Many thanks to my incredibly talented husband, Tim Motz, for piecing together this year’s Water Mill news into this brilliant poem. I hope you enjoyed it as I did, and please, read it again because each time you’ll understand more references.