A Visit from St. Vincent
Stop These People Before They Consummate Again
What a great surprise - to find I'm still making a small contribution to a fandom
that's meant so much to me. I'm tickled to hear that the poem is continuing to entertain in its
little way, and delighted for you to use it any way to celebrate the Winterfest.
Happy New Year and be well!
By Clare Sieffert
A Visit from St Vincent
Stop These People Before They Consummate Again!
- Cynthia Hatch
the night before Christmas. Above and Below
Few creatures were stirring because of the snow.
And every New Yorker was snug in his bed,
Save one, who sat listening for sounds overhead.
She had no illusions that sleigh bells might jingle;
This new negligee would be lost on Kris Kringle;
And who wanted reindeer disturbing their rest?
She waited to welcome a dreamier guest.
The minutes ticked by; could she hope any more?
Would it help to put cookies and milk by the door?
When what should their trusty connection transmit,
But a tingling sensation that just wouldn't quit.
A look toward the window showed snow falling thick
'Round a fantastic form -- and it wasn't St. Nick!
He was dressed all in black from his boots to his hood,
And she thought to herself he was sure lookin' good.
His eyes were like sapphires, his thighs were like bitchin',
She doubted those shoulders could fit in her kitchen.
He was rugged and ripped, a right ravishing hunk,
Though his choice of a meeting place pretty much stunk.
The blizzard was howling. His cloak whipped about,
And still he stood waiting -- for her to come out.
The storm would soon make her new nightie a wreck,
But she thought it all over and grinned, "What the heck!"
Away to the terrace she flew with a push,
Tore open the French doors and fell on her tush.
"Are you well?" he inquired as she lay on the ice.
"Well enough," she replied. "Would you like some advice?"
"Of course," he said, gallantly helping her stand,
As her fingers like icicles froze to his hand.
"Well, Vincent, the wind-chill is 30 below.
Does it really make sense to meet here in the snow?"
"Where else should we meet?" he remarked with surprise,
Enchanted to note that her lips matched his eyes.
His face was so gorgeous; his voice sweetly quiet
With tones that incited her hormones to riot.
But really, she thought as it made her heart skip,
You'd think that his mane-frame was missing a chip.
"There an inside," she shivered. "See, right through this door.
There's ch-chairs and a fire, a warm rug on the floor."
"Why, Catherine," he gasped, and his eyes opened wide.
"Do you mean to imply you would let me inside?
You've asked only once -- two years after we met --
And when it fell through -- well you seemed to forget."
"I did?" Snowy wrinkles appeared on her brow.
"By golly, you're right -- but I'm asking you now!"
She extended a hand, rather bitten with frost,
And giving a tug, o'er the threshold they crossed.
They curled up together in front of the fire
And cuddled and talked 'til she dared to inquire,
"Do you think you could kiss me -- in view of the season?"
"But surely," he blinked, "we don't need a reason.
"You had only to ask -- I exist for your bidding."
She sat there, dumbfounded. "You've got to be kidding!
You mean you were leaving this move up to me?
I was waiting for you!" He said, "How can this be?"
But neither much cared for the how or the why,
Making up for lost time, 'til she said with a sigh,
"Since I'm on a roll, can I ask one more favor?"
And the answer was there in the look that he gave her.
The gleam in his eyes made her let out a whistle,
And she clung to his bod like a heat-seeking missile,
But he heard her exclaim, ere she turned out the light,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to us a good night!"
- poem from Great
- photomontages by Lynn Wright
- strange Winterfest Candle is Clare Sieffert