Twas the month before Christmas....

Athens at Christmastime is lackluster to say the least. Of course there are lights, but they are sporadic and wimpy. The weather has just started to turn cold, well colder than humid 70 degree "autumn." The trash is just starting to get picked up from a horrendously long garbageman strike.

Since I had some free time after my Modern Greek final this afternoon, I rewrote the the well known poem "Twas a Night Before Christmas" to fit the reality of Athens at Christmastime. I hope you enjoy:

Twas the Month before Christmas

Twas the month before Christmas, when all through the town,

Not a trash can was emptied, and the metro shut down.

The keys were all hung on the sticky tack hooks,

In hopes that the house would be robbed by no crooks.

The ladies were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of verb forms danced in their heads.

And Katie in her tie-dye and I in my boots,

Had just settled many ancient Greek noun disputes.

When out on the street, there arose such a clatter,

I rolled over and slept, not bothering the matter.

Probably a cat or a dog, or a stray,

Was having a fight or so some would say.

The moon that was covered by the old, smelly smog,

Gave the luster to the Hellenic teens having a snog.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a bottle of booze from the OK mart cashier.

And some cops did arrive, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment one must be called Nick.

They did no such search or arrest of any sort,

But he whistled and shouted and called his cohorts.

Now Giannes! Now Potras! Now Gorgos, Andreas!

On mopeds, on scooters, on vespas to Pireaus.

To the top of the hill, to the top of wall!

Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!

As cigarette smoke in the humid air blows,

They whisk away girls, right under her nose

So up to Lykavittos Oh Manos, he flew

With Katie on his back, and obedient too!

But back to the town, lets describe it some more.

Juxtaposed to the new are the ages of yore

Down in Syntagma Square as I walk down the road

No lights, but some riots, maybe a bomb that explodes.

The city’s too poor for even a tree

But the people they say, “Don’t blame it on me!”

The crisis is their fault, or his, of course hers

No money for pine trees, no conifers or firs.

Monastiraki has some twinkling bright lights,

But watch out for drunkards, they get into fights.

Exharkia’s got anarchists, should they take a bow

For stirring up ruckus, so the news has a cow.

Kolonaki is where many a step can be found

So can the “Dream Team,” a name we have crowned

Omonia is where all the cool kids hang out

As do pigeons and homeless and gypsies about

But back in Pangrati, not a storefront is glowing

With garland or tree lights or ribbon a-flowing

The sidewalks are slippery, without even rain,

Walking them in heels, induces great pain

And oh how we wish for a bit of the Spirit

To bring us great cheer, so come on, lets hear it.

But instead we light candles on Sarah’s menorah

And pretend we’re all Jewish and all read the Torah.

But a Christmas we’ll have, in just a short while,

And ignore that bad transcript CYA has on our file,

And we all will exclaim as we fly out of sight,

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”