Let’s face it, 2020 HAS been an absolute dumpster fire. Living with the pandemic, going through the election and social unrest from facing our nation’s systemic racism has put us all on edge.
As the New Year approaches I also weighed sharing some resolutions, which I always break about Jan. 2, or pondering what we might hope will be better in 2021. Because queers joined many others in voting this year, we have ousted the absolute worst president in American history and I considered writing about the relief we feel and the excitement we hope about what lies ahead.
Since Watermark is featuring Remarkable People in this issue, I even thought about some pretty remarkable people in my life that I could write about, but at this unprecedented holiday season that all seemed too serious and melancholy. I don’t know about you, but 2020 has given me about as much serious and heavy stuff as I can handle.
As the old song goes, “We need a little Christmas right this very minute.” So I’ve crafted my tongue-in-cheek holiday card to all the faithful readers of this publication and my column specifically. I hope it might bring a smile to your face.
Happiest of holidays to each of you – and now, with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore, author of “A Visit from St. Nicholas” – I present “A Visit from St. Biden,” my holiday parody:
‘Twas the night before elections went all through the house, with a pandemic raging it’s been a real roust.
All the vaccines were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that immunity soon would be there. The children were nestled with no virus dreads, while visions of home schooling danced in their heads.
And ma in her mask covering her face with no gaps, had just settled our brains without MAGA hats; When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Yep, it was Donald – he couldn’t be fatter. Away from the window for he wanted cash, tore open the shutters and I hit me some hash.
The moon on the face of his porn star in tow, gave a lustre of midday to hush money below. When what to my wondering eyes did appear, but Donald himself and Rudy, oh dear.
With a crazy Republican so lively and quick, I knew in a moment he must be a prick. More rapid than eagles his conspiracies came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
“Now, Fraud! Now, Recounts! Now Socialist Vixens! It’s Fake News on Maddow, on CNN and Wolf Blitzen! To the top of the ballots, to the top we must crawl! Now count away, throw away, discredit them all!”
With warming climates the wild hurricanes fly, Joe rejoins us to Paris, stops polluting the sky. So up to the White House the Democrats flew, with the sleigh full of empathy and Kamala too!
And then a concession, I barely heard on the roof. With prancing and pawing and a forced little hoof. As I drew in my head, puffing weed all around, down the chimney a smiling St. Biden came with a bound.
He was dressed presidential, from his head to his foot, crushing Trump and his cronies with ashes and soot. A bundle of health care he had flung on his back, with all sorts of goodies in his progressive pack.
His eyes – how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry! His record popular votes – what a beautiful cherry! His electoral win tied up like a bow, and the mask on his face was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pot pipe he’s not quite there yet, but keep up the pressure it’ll be legal you bet. He had a broad face and some aviator glasses, he’s charming to all, to lads and to lasses.
He was in shape and lively, a right jolly old elf, made me glad that I voted, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work; stopped the virus from spreading, then stopped a real jerk.
And pointing a finger to those that he chose, now there’s a real leader and the country it rose. He sprang to his limo, gave his team a loud whistle, with all sorts of ideas that make conservatives bristle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight— “Happy Biden to all, and to all a good night!”
“A Visit from St. Nicholas” was originally published in 1823. Greg Stemm is a 37 year resident of Pinellas County. He is a founder of St Pete Pride and currently sits on the board of the LGBTQ Resource Center of the Gulfport Public Library. Greg is an outspoken activist on many issues including HIV/AIDS education.
