A Visit from St. Lucas

Last updated December 26, 2003

'Twas the week after Christmas and throughout old Chi Town,
not a Triumph was running, not even a Renown.

The redlines were stacked near the compressor with care,
in hopes that St. Lucas would fill them with air.

Casper and Lucille were nestled both snug in their sheds,
while visions of overdrives danced in their heads.

Old missus had promised, if I came through with a gift,
she’d polish my Yule Log [if you get my drift],

When out on the street there arose such a clatter,
I got off the old lady to see what was the matter.

Out to the garage I ran as fast as I could,
pushed on the opener, and tripped over Casper’s hood.

The sparks from the Yule lights on my evergreen trees
made my driveway look like something stained by the Exxon Valdez.

When what to wondering eyes appears,
but an old Group 44 semi with eight tiny engineers,

And a nasty old driver so crabby and rude,
I knew in a heartbeat, it must be St. Luke.

More rapid than Woods Brothers, his pit crew they came,
and he screamed and he cursed, and swore at them by name;

"Now Stalker! Now Yacker! Now Elwood and Spuds!
On Toofus! On Toolman! On Gizmo and Suds!

To the end of the driveway, inside the stall,
now grind away, saw away, cut away all!"

As the Castrol that spews when your tach gets too high
as you try to keep up with some Corvette guy,

So into my garage his wrenchmen they flew,
with their boxes of tools, and St. Lucas too.

And then in a twinkling I heard on my bench,
the twisting and ratcheting of each tiny wrench.

As I drew in my head and was turning around,
in the garage St. Lucas came with a bound.

He was covered in grime from his hat to his shoes,
and his clothes were all coated with grease and with ooze.

A bundle of parts he had flung on his back,
and he looked like a peddler just opening his sack.

His eyes how so beady! His forehead so wrinkled!
His cheeks how so sallow, His nose like a pickle!

His thin little lips were drawn up like a bow,
and the stubble on his chin was as gray as they go.

The butt of a Camel hung loose from his lip
and a pint of Jack Daniels extended from the pocket on his hip.

He had a blank stare and his teeth were all yellow,
and he shook as he wheezed, like a bowl full of jello.

He was skinny and gaunt, a right scary old elf,
and I shuddered when I saw him in spite of myself.

A twitch of his eye and a twist of his head,
soon gave me to know I had something to dread.

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work
and crimped all the connections, and then turned with a jerk.

And sticking his finger inside of his nose,
he flicked off a booger, and out door he goes.

He jumped into his truck, to his crew gave a whistle,
and away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim as he rode out of sight,
"Tighten the lug nuts, because this is no rumor,
If you forget to torque them, you’ll wind up with the Boomer!"

by Bob "Suds" Streepy
With humble apologies to Clement C. Moore