Christmas Snow

It's that time of year again—high summer. Time to develop material for the coming Yuletide. The following, to the tune of Marks's Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer, is an old idea that never got off the ground until now, thanks, partly, to Rif, a short story by Tim Lees from his new collection, The Life to Come.

Ricky has shortcomings that even I can see. As usual, the last quatrain lacks oomph; frankly, I never really know how to finish these things. The bridge or release requires the listener to understand that "Rick's" implies "stash"—and requiring the listener (as opposed to the reader) to understand anything is nearly always futile.

Finally, the tagline doesn't fully replicate the original "Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer," with its triple R-D and the pair of N's. Substituting "reckless" for "snot-faced" would have meant taking care of the sounds and letting the sense take care of itself. Ah, me. Perhaps revisions will suggest themselves someday.

Ricky, the snot-nosed rock star,
Hadn’t any septum left.
Doctors who saw his palate
Told him that the thing was cleft.

Younger and hipper rockers
Thought of Rick as just a joke,
Strung out like someone’s laundry
Hangin' on a line of coke.

At Live 8, the cops arrived,
Seizing all the snow.
Only Rick’s escaped the bulls—
Taped behind his testicles.

Now all the cokeheads praise him,
Sucking up with all their might.
Ricky, the snot-nosed rock star
Keeps 'em high as Franklin's kite.

I do like "strung out," etc., and "sucking up." But, then, I'm a pushover for puns. Now, I must think of a verse. Perhaps something like:

There were Joplin, and Hendrix, and Lennon and Ono;
Jerry Garcia, and Bŏno, and Bōno; . . .

Lyric © 2005 Nathaniel DesH. Petrikov