‘Twas the night before Moves,when all through the Corps
All the people were nervous for what was in store.
The cell phones were plugged in their chargers with care,
In hopes that tomorrow no calls would they bear.

The Off’cers were cowered all stiff in their beds,
While visions of bubble wrap danced in their heads.
And missus in her jammies, and I, sans a snore,
Couldn’t settle our brains for a few hours more.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon, which was glistenin’ on my dew-speckled lawn
Gave the lustre of mid-day in those hours ‘fore dawn.
When, what to my wondering ears now did roar,
But a nice new crown vic with a shield on the door.

When the driver stepped out with a look of pure glee,
I knew in that sec it must be the DC.
He pulled out a clipboard as the car groaned and hissed,
and I guessed right away in his hand was THE LIST!

“Is it Huntsville? Or Tampa? Somewhere in Kentucky?
Or Tulsa? Or Memphis? DHQ, if you’re lucky?
From the west Texas town of El Paso to Wheeling!
Which place will it be? Which one are you feeling?

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
The names of appointments flew through my head in a panic
from Havre de Grace to Atlanta (Hispanic).

He was teasing, just teasing, I thought and I hoped
“Maybe I’m not moving”, were the words that I groped!
A twist of his head; with his eye, gave a wink
Soon told me I had nothing to worry ’bout…I think.

He pulled out his Sharpie and I could not miss
That it looked like a checkmark he placed on his list.
And despite all my pleading, my begging, behooving!
He said, “I still cannot tell you tonight if you’re moving!”

He hopped in his car, to his key gave a turn,
And I can still smell the smoke from the rubber he burned.
But I heard him exclaim, to shout out one last warning ,
“Good luck getting sleep! I might call in the morning!”

by Tom Guilliams, with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore

For those who are not familiar with the “moves” system in The Salvation Army, the official “farewell orders” will be handed out tomorrow morning here in the southern 13 states.

On a personal note, my wife and I are not expecting a call, but we are also not expecting not to be called!  We will accept any assignment from our superiors, including a longer stay!

This poem is for entertainment purposes only!