'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Not a gadget was running, not even a mouse.
Updates were posted and tweeted with care
In hope that minutiae would be widely shared.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Galaxies danced in their heads.
Smartphones and tablets and consoles for gaming,
Their daydreams and night reveries were inflaming.
For Christmas should not be in sad disconnection
From touchscreens and 4G and pixel perfection.
Mini or maxi is not much the point,
But latest and greatest does not disappoint.
Immersed in these thoughts I was gazing at stars,
When cries in the night I could hear from afar.
Face to the window my eyes roved the dark,
And I saw in the distance four tiny white arcs.
They floated and drifted and gently descended,
Growing larger till I could see 'neath them suspended
Four shapes which were slowly revealed to be men
Steering skydiving parachutes straight for my glen.
I bolted a-quick for I knew what this was:
A Christmas Eve visit from old Google Claus!
Call it myth, or Saint Sergey, or plain superstition...
Or the spirit of Christmas, by my intuition.
Whatever the name, I knew what it brought:
The single device that no one's yet got.
Glass, it is called, and no simple tech,
It foretells the future in unholy spec.
Bespectacled we all shall be evermore,
Once clad in these goggles from Google what for.
They show and they tell and they click and they snap;
They give and they get and they tweet and they map.
Photos and vids are as easy as blinking,
Think nothing of texting and blogging and linking.
All that your high tech does now on the 'nets,
Will soon seem like faxes or floppy diskettes.
I raced for the chimney. My teeth were a-chatter.
From the rooftop above me came clatter and patter.
A swooshing sound followed by boots on the hearth.
The young fellow before me said, "Hi, my name's Garth."
Dressed up in khakis and button-down shirt,
With a self-conscious manner that bordered on curt,
He rummaged a box from his bulky gift sack
And I could see right away that it looked like a Mac!
His eyes twinkled then, and he managed a snort.
"Not what you expected, I gather, eh sport?"
The room spun around me; with reason I grappled.
"You've not come from Google, then, but really from Apple?"
The sign of a cross Garth did make with his fingers.
"Do not speak that name, sir, for as long as I linger.
From Google HR we have come in the night,
Bestowing a Chromebook to all in our flight.
It is what we gave out this year to our own,
And you've got an extra, so spare me the moan."
The earth fell away; my heart dropped a mile.
Yet through my distress I gave a wan smile.
"I've heard that the Chromebook is rather a match
For a fine Apple product: the MacBook Air, natch."
His eye roll was epic and he stared me straight through.
"Tell me something I don't know," then up the chimney he flew.
The future will wait, then, as all futures do.
One day we will meet it with gadgets anew.
This season give thanks for the tech you receive,
And always for loved ones on each Christmas eve.