Torchmate Before Christmas
by Rachel Miller (CNC enthusiast and marketing director for Torchmate)
Twas the night before cutting, and all through the house
Not a fabricator was working, not even their spouse.
The sheet metal was laid out everywhere,
In hopes that a Torchmate soon would be there.
The plasma cutters were nestled all snug in their sheds,
While visions of sparks danced in their heads.
When out on the driveway there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see if Santa needed a ladder.
Away to the garage I flew like a flash.
Tore open the door and made all my tools crash.
The moon on the breast of my new air filtration
Gave the luster of mid-day to my CNC fixation.
And what to my wondering eyes should appear
But 380 oz. in. stepper motors on some black and red gear.
With CAD software so lively and quick
I knew for sure it was finally St Nick.
More rapid than eagles the Torchmate cut out my name,
As St Nick he laughed, and I did the same.
“Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the shop! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
As the metal melts like butter when the sparks fly,
And I’m so happy I want to cry
Up on the shop roof the reindeer flew,
With a sleigh full of Torchmate stuff, and St Nick too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I put on my safety glasses and welding gloves
Down the chimney St Nick came after some shoves.
He was dressed all in red from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished from plasma cutting soot;
A bundle of steel he had flung over his back,
And he looked like dollar signs just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled like a plasma torch igniting!
His cheeks were…who cares! This is so exiting!
He sweated and giggled with my machine in tow,
I would’ve kissed him if I had some mistletoe.
My CAD software he held in his teeth
And the cables encircled his head like a wreath
He had a broad face and smelled of petroleum jelly,
But I didn’t care whether or not he was smelly.
My Torchmate machine, he set up by the tree,
And I laughed so hard I tripped and fell on my knees.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know there was more in his sled.
He spoke not a word and hooked up the computer,
Before I knew it he fabricated a motor scooter.
And laying his finger aside his nose,
He handed me an AVHC, and up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, with an empty red sack,
And I shouted “Santa, you don’t need ever come back.”
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Torchmate keeps upgrading. So I think I just might!”