‘Twas The Night Before Hipstmas

‘Twas the night before Hipstmas when all through the city,
The hipsters were saying, ‘Oh what a pity,
That Christmas is coming the very next day,
But the food isn’t whole food, and that’s not okay.

Because nothing is vegan, or even organic,
No quinoa in sight, which is really quite tragic.
Swap the turkey for tofu and it would be great,
Even better preferred if it’s served on a slate.

You can keep your mince pies, we’ll be happy with kale,
Which’ll soon be washed down with some micro brewed ale.
We don’t need a pint, 2/3 will be fine,
As long as it’s craft, it’ll sure beat mulled wine.’

The hipsters all nodded, and agreed their position,
When one soon jumped up, and said ‘But please listen…
Food’s not the cause of all our frustrations,
Christmas in general requires gentrification.

The jumpers are tacky, tartan would be better,
You’ll never see me in a Santa Claus  sweater.
The lights are just awful, the tinsel is worse,
And cutting down trees is somewhat perverse.

I don’t care for presents, its far too commercial,
Even though I might sound a bit controversial,
It’s all just cliché, my opinion is final,
And surely The Pogues would sound better on vinyl?

He sat back and smiled, all smug and pretentious,
Not really fussed if he sounded contentious,
It’s all part of his job of being culturally noble,
To challenge the things that are mainstream and global.

The rest of the hipsters agreed he was right,
Nothing about Christmas is helping their plight.
It’s not very vintage, there’s a lack of things quirky,
And nothing feels right about killing a turkey.

There’s only one thing which they like quite a lot,
Santa Claus has a beard, which of course they’ve all got.
His could do with a comb and some wax at the least,
With some oversized specs his style would increase.

But they don’t bother argue, it seems quite  redundant,
They’ll just smoke on their pipes, in amounts quite abundant.
And they’ll stay there all night, in an underground bar,
Where everything comes in an old mason jar.

In the morning they’ll wake up a bit worse for wear,
But they’ll make a nice top knot out of their hair.

In their presents they’ll find an old Casio watch,
And some snug skinny jeans which are tight round the crotch.

As the day unfolds they’ll all surely complain,
That Christmas is really all very mundane.
They’ll get out their iPhones and text all of their friends,
To say they’re above all these holiday trends.

They’re over it now, for all the right reasons,
And the fact they all prefer festival season.
That’s when they celebrate those unheard of bands,
And can get away without washing their hands.

In the meantime they’re stuck in this winter tradition,
Which has become more of a Western condition.
They don’t really like it, they don’t think it’s right,
But they’ll say Merry Hipstmas, and wish all a good night.