Old St. Nick Had a Crick

T’was the day before Christmas, but there was no cheer,
No jingle bells jingled, no sound of reindeer.
The word had got out that Santa was sick.
There would be no visit from good ol’ St.  Nick.

The people were sad, no gaiety sounded.
For Christmas had come, but Santa was grounded.
He walked down the street, and what should he see?
On a sign there was printed, “Dr. Parkhurst, D.C.”

Now Santa was not one to like a new tactic.
But Mrs. Clause suggested he try chiropractic.
In a very short time, to judge by the clock,
He was in the adjustment room, talking to Doc.

“It must be the hurry, the tension and all.
I simply cannot seem to get on the ball.
Life used to be easy, just toys, guns, and whistles,
But now I dodge fall-out, space ships and missiles.”
“And Doc, take a look at the size of this pack!
Have you any idea what it does to my back?”
Poor Santa was miserable, and just barely able
With the help of Dr. Brian, to get on the table.

Dr. Brian was gentle. Without fuss or tussle
He examined the vertebrae and relaxed the muscles.
He spotted the trouble, and then with a click,
Started aligning the ailing St. Nick.

And Santa felt aches and pains slipping away,
In no time at all, he began feeling gay.
His cheeks were all rosy with a new found glow,
And a healthy Kris Kringle was rarin’ to go.

As he went out the door, he threw Dr. Karla a kiss.
It had been centuries since he’d felt good as this!
And we heard him exclaim as he went out of sight,
“Go to Parkhurst Chiropractic—they do everything right!”