12/24/2025
’Twas the night before Christmas, the roads still were dry,
Snow crews were resting, blue skies way up high.
The spreaders sat parked, trucks snug in their bays,
Unaware of the storm set for post-holiday days.
The forecasts were whispering, models looked mean,
A December Twenty-Six storm, cold, wet, and obscene.
Contractors knew it—those seasoned and wise,
That once Christmas passed… came salt-ordering cries.
When out of the darkness, with stainless steel gleam,
Rolled Metro Salt’s convoy, like something from a dream.
Tri-axles and tandems, stacked high to the tarp,
White gold piled heavy, clean, dry, and sharp.
Then what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But Salt Bae himself, spreading crystals with cheer.
With a flick of the wrist and a confident grin,
He seasoned the storm before it rolled in.
He sprinkled that salt like it was Christmas snow,
Onto loaders and piles that continued to grow.
“On plow trucks! On loaders! On contractors all!
Your lots shall stay black when this winter does call!”
Before Christmas was over, before bells were done ringing,
Every contractor had salt—thanks to late-night slinging.
No shortages feared, no scrambling in dread,
Metro Salt made sure every bin stayed well-fed.
Then he sprang to his truck, the engines did roar,
Another storm conquered, another encore.
But we heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight—
“Merry Christmas to all,
and good plowing the night!” ❄️🚛🧂
