T’was the night before Christmas, and in the backyard,
Lobster-saw-us sat quiet, she was aground hard.
The dock lines were all hung from their cleats with care
In hopes that a new Dive Season soon would be there.
The dive tanks were snuggled all safe in a file
While visions of warm water dives made us smile.
And Alice in her sweat shirt, and I in my trunks,
Had both rinsed out our wetsuits to get rid of the funk.
When off of the stern there arose such a clatter,
I turned from the helm to see what was the matter.
“Throw open the porthole, and toss out a line,
We’re all back on boadr, everyone’s fine.”
The moon on the breast of the mud spattered snow,
Gave the luster of Southie to the boat down below.
When what to my eyes were played such tricks
But a fifty pound lobster and his posse of chix.
That enormous bug was such a scary old horror
I knew in a moment he was the King Lobster.
They flicked their tails quickly and backwards they came
And he whistled and chuckled and called them by name,
“Now Scott, now Sarah, now Spikey and Drunken ,
On Kim, on Mort, on good Dr. Harrison.
Jump over the side, get into the water
The ‘vis’ is outstanding, you know that you ought-a!”
As I pulled off my hood and was turning around,
Up the dock the King Lobster came with a bound.
He was dressed all in shell, from his tail to his claws
And his antennae turned towards me and gave me great pause.
I was not afraid, I would not be hasty, I couldn’t flee from a lobster so tasty.
And though he tried my fingers to crush, I took my time, I did not rush.
I reached quick behind him, his back I did snag,
And I twisted, pulled quick and shoved him into my bag
And later that night, as I held him o’er my pot
He said, Season’s Greetings, my goodness, it’s hot!”