Twas the Night After Lock Down (an Ode to Obby and goodlocal)

Christmas at Goodlocal

by Doug

I am not usually a big user of social media; I prefer to keep a lower profile but this is a great cause and I wanted to thank and support GOODLOCAL, hence my poem (“Inspired by the goodlocal efforts in Winnipeg and based upon “Twas the Night Before Christmas” by Clement Clarke Moore”).

Twas the Night After Lock Down (an Ode to Obby and goodlocal)

Twas the night after Lock Down, when all through the shops
Not a shopper was stirring, not even the rent-a-cops ;
The sanitizer was hung by the entrance with care,
In hopes that buyers someday would be there;

The shopkeepers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of holiday-sales danced in their heads;
And tellers in their shields, and owners in their masks,
Had just prayed for a few purchasing tasks,

When out on the lot there arose such a clatter,
Vendors sprang from stores to see what was the matter.
Away to the shuttered windows they flew like a flash,
Tore open the loading doors and prepared their cache.

The update of the new Covid Code Red law
Gave them fears their sales charts had a flaw,
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But a mini-van, looking for packages so dear,

With a socially-distanced driver, so lively and quick,
They knew in a moment there really must be a St. Nick !.
More rapid than post, the new orders they came,
And he checked, and sorted, and delivered them by name;

“Now, GIFTS! now, GROCERIES! now, BOOKS and TOYS!
Oh, CLOTHING! oh JEWELRY! oh, stuff for good BOYS!
From the first on the list! to the last one to call !
Now shop away! shop away! shop away all!”

As mailbox flyers that before the pandemic fly,
Now met with a mandated; “do not come in person to buy !”,
So off to the lap-top the shoppers they flew,
With an app full of deals, and delivery too.

And then, after a text, I looked to my drive
My boxes of local goodies all soon to arrive .
As I drew in my packages, and was turning around,
I wondered, “Was that Obby leaving with a bound” ?

He was dressed all in style, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all sweaty from all his input;
A bundle of duties he carried on his back,
As he was the man keeping things on track.

His eyes — how they twinkled! his face how merry!
His arms full of crafts and food from the prairie !
His smiling mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was trimmed so low.

The stump of a pen he held tight in his teeth,
And the “plan” circled his head like a wreath;
He had a kind face and a flat belly,
And great shawarma from his deli.

He was cheery and bright, a new-style elf,
And I smiled when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had less to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the orders; then thanked a clerk,
And adjusting his cell aside of his head,
And giving a nod, to the warehouse he did tread;

He sprang to his office; to his team, a kind word,
And away they all went to do what was unheard.
But I heard him exclaim, something that was vocal,

Photos courtesy of Doug

Header Photo by Chad Madden on Unsplash