Dec 2016 24

Twas the night before Christmas

By: Dave Wheeler

'Twas the night before Christmas and all thru the home,

Not a muscle was stirring, nor even a bone.

The tendons were quiet, the ligaments too,

Even the fascia had nothing to do.

 

The masseur lamented, "How will I survive,

"With no pain to inflict, how can a man thrive?

"No hamstrings to torture, no quads to endure 

"The hurt of sports massage - the pain that is pure."

 

"No sportsmen to punish, no mothers that curse,

"No people to cry out  - Stop, just take my purse!"

So a quiet befell the sports massage room

And the clinic was filled with a sense of dread gloom.

 

But then with a whoosh at the chimney that night,

Santa appeared in the shadowy light.

"My back it is awful, these old shoulders too,

"Please Mr Wheeler, see what you can do."

 

With a childish grin, I set  then to work,

Using every move, massage and quirk.

How Santa did grumble, but then with delight

He jumped off the table like a young elvish  sprite.

 

He ran to his sleigh, the reindeer a-willing,

Pulled into the sky in a move that was thrilling.

I heard him call out, as he pulled out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"