Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the docks
No liquor was stirring, just scotch on the rocks
The fenders were hung from their vessels with care
In hopes that fair weather soon would be there
Their owners were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of repowers danced in their heads
My gal in her sweat pants, and I in gym shorts,
Had just settled down to watch cool winter sports

A blast to Key West on Christmas Eve? A poetic flight of fancy with apologies to Clement C. Moore. Photo from Key West, Fla., November 2018 courtesy/copyright Pete Boden/Shoot 2 Thrill Pix.

When out on the dock there arose such a racket
It sounded like outboards falling off some cheap brackets
Away to the window I stumbled then fell
Then popped right back up and said, “What the hell?”
The moon on the waves with movement so slow
Gave me just enough light to see objects below
When what to my bloodshot peepers appeared
An ugly old runabout but with graphics so clear
With a Kentucky-born driver so ragged and wild
I knew in a moment he was Stephen Miles
He looked for his home boys but none of them came
So he tossed back some moonshine and called them by name
“Now, Vinnie! Now, Burton! Now Jason and Dan!
“Tell Simon and Curtis I have a cool plan
“Let’s head to Key West or some other warm spot
“We’ll take my old Cobalt it’s all that I’ve got.”
They called up Pete Boden to capture their trip
Then started the Cobalt, and yelled “Let her rip.”
Through Miami, Key Largo and Big Pine they flew
With coolers of Fireball and Bacardi 152

Read more: The Night Before Christmas, Key West Style