The Oily Oafs were poured at the bar with care,
In hopes that Karl soon would be there.

The dwarves were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of Bittergems danced in their heads.

I put down my headset, reclined at my desk,
Grateful – at last! – for a moment of rest.

When out near the Drop Pod arose such a clatter,
I switched on the cameras, to see what was the matter.

What I saw made my warmhearted mood disappear:
The dwarves were awake, and they’d drunk all the beers.

Those inebriate miners were wild and at play,
They cheered and kicked foreign objects in the launch bay.

The jukebox blared while they smashed decorations,
The whole place topsy-turvy from gravity recalibration.

My heart sank as they ran in the Memorial Hall,
Guzzling Underhill Deluxe, trying to clip through the walls.