A Queer Rendition of Twas the Night Before…

THE NIGHT BEFORE BLACK FRIDAY
By Jerimarie Liesegang of Queers without Borders

Twas the night before Black Friday, when all through the store,
Not a cash register was ringing, not even a penny rolling on the floor;

The sale signs were hung with the rollback prices near,
In hopes that the greedy capitalists would soon appear;

The store associates were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of the morning cheer and squiggle danced in their heads;
And the Managers with their Walkie Talkies and the CEO with his serpent,
Had just settled down for a long winters holiday enslavement,
When out in the parking lot there arose such a clatter,
That the Blackwater Guard sprang from his post to see what was the matter,
Away to the front doors he sprang like a flash,
Tore open the cash registers and threw aside the cash,
When, to the Blackwater guards’ wondering eyes should appear,
But a hijacked manger, so devilish and near,
That he knew in a flash it must be the Queers,
With a little old driver, who looked like the messiah,
He knew in a moment that it must be St. Sylvia.
More rapid than rich gays to an HRC rally they came,
St. Sylvia whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Richard! Now Timmy Now Frank and Paul!
On Jerimarie! On Matt! On, Kyle and Neil!
Fly away from HRC! Fly away from the Corporate Gays!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
As FEMA and government built levees that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with a gay capitalist, they mount to the sky,
So up to the store front doors the queers they flew,
With the sleigh full of explosives and St. Sylvia too.

Then in a twinkling, it could be heard at the doors
The explosions by each little queer saboteur,
As the Blackwater guard drew in his hand, and was turning around,
Through the front doors exploded the queers with a bound,
They were dressed all in lavender and black, from their heads to their toes,
And their clothes were all tarnished with blue and yellow prose,
A bundle of radical queer zines they had flung on their backs,
And they looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
Their eyes — how they twinkled! Their dimples how merry!
Their cheeks were like roses, Their noses like a cherry!

With a wink of their eyes and a twist of their heads,
Soon gave the Blackwater guard to know he had plenty to dread;
They spoke not a word, but went straight to their work,
And filled all the aisles with zines; then turned with a jerk,
And laying their fingers aside of their nose,
And giving a nod, out the doors they rose;
They sprang to their manger, and each gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

And the world heard each queer exclaim, ere they drove out of sight,
“Peace, Love and Anarchy to all, and to all a queer-night.”