‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the state,
Not a creature was stirring, not even your mate.
The drones were all parked on their chargers with care,
In hopes the FAA wouldn’t catch them up there.
The Jersey kids nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of Taylor ham danced in their heads.
And Ma in her curlers, and I with my beer,
Had just settled down for a Jersey good cheer.
When out on the turnpike there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like The Flash,
Tore open the blinds and threw up the sash.
The moon on the Parkway was shining so bright,
And made Jersey’s potholes look almost all right.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight drones in high gear.
With a little old driver, so lively and keen,
I knew in a moment, it must be Frank Green.
More rapid than eagles his quadcopters came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now Bezos! Now Musk! Now DJI Phantoms!
On Skydio! On Parrot! On those cool Mavic tandems!
To the top of the bridge, to the edge of the wall,
Now fly away, fly away, fly away all!”
As jughandles confuse every out-of-state driver,
These drones dodged construction like seasoned survivors.
So up to the rooftops, their rotors they flew,
With a sleigh full of packages—and probably some booze.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The buzzing and beeping of propellers—aloof!
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down the chimney Frank came with a leap and a bound.
He was dressed all in black, like a stealthy New Jerseyan,
With a smirk on his face that was utterly certain.
A sack full of drones he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a guy who could handle some flak.
His eyes—they were fiery, his dimples were scary!
His grin said, “Yeah, I just cut off that Camry.”
His droll little mouth was set for some sass,
And the beard on his chin screamed, “I’m middle class.”
The stump of a cigar he clenched in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a Jersey-fit belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right Jersey elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his wrist,
He dropped off my Amazon order—he couldn’t resist.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; he gave a quick smirk.
And laying a finger aside of his nose,
He flipped me the bird, and up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his drones gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like an army-bound missile.
But I heard him exclaim as he soared out of sight,
“Merry Christmas, ya bastards—and turn off that porch light!”
