How the MBTA Stole Christmas

'Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the T,
MBTA drivers conspired to frustrate me.
Last night I cradled my presents at Boylston with care,
With hopes that my C train soon would be there.
The riders were nestled all snug in their seats,
Unlike on the Red Line, where they stand, moo and bleat.
My driver wore no kerchief, and I no cap,
But the trip took long enough for a 45-minute nap.
At each stop the car turned off with such a clatter,
That the driver decided to see what was the matter.
He stopped at Kent Street to call a mechanic—
After 15 minutes without motion, riders started to panic.
The moon shone above 60-degree Boston,
But being stuck in that T car was far from awesome.
Nothing to our wondering eyes did appear;
We could've gotten home faster on some reindeer.
Our little old driver was neither lively nor quick,
But he was much thinner than dear ol' St. Nick.
Slower than molasses the assistance came,
And finally the driver let us off of the train.
Now St. Paul! Now Coolidge! Now, I ran home!
To wrap up my presents before the post office closed.
To the top of the stairs! To the end of the hall!
Now wrap presents, tie ribbons, label them all!
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So down to the Beacon Street post office I flew,
With arms full of presents, and Christmas hope too.
And then, in a twinkling, I saw the USPS Grinch
Slam the door in my face without so much as a flinch.
A group of us huddled outside at 7:01,
Our hopes for Christmas miracles finished and done.
We trudged home dejected, knowing that we
Would be blamed for late gifts, when it was really
The fault of the T! The fault of the man!
Damn post office hours—and damn you, Dan.
If only my T car had made some headway,
I could've mailed my presents out yesterday.
But now I've thought of the best Christmas gift for this town:
Trains that come when you want them, and never break down.
And if only Dan would exclaim, before he drove away,
"Happy holidays to all, and a fare-free Christmas Day!"

With apologies to Clement C. Moore, Dr. Seuss, and all the folks whose presents are late thanks to Dan's heart—or the MBTA's capacity—being a few sizes too small.