Poetry Thursday

 

Once again, Angel Sammys and Teddys Pawetaton have provided us with a photo for Poetry Thursday.

I was a wee child of only eight.

It was Christmas Eve, a time for our family to celebrate.

Aunts, Uncles, cousins, and friends gathered in our house.

I hated them all, feeding off my family like a louse.

 

At nine o’clock, I was sent to bed

“If you’re awake Santa won’t come,” my parents said.

I could hardly sleep because of all the excitement.

It was like I lived at MSNBC, and Trump had been placed under another indictment.

 

 I slept fitfully that Christmas Eve.

Excited about what Santa would leave.

I was up and headed downstairs at the crack of dawn.

But when I got downstairs and looked under the tree, all my excitement was gone.

 

Lying under the treat was Santa.

He had eaten the cookies but hadn’t touched the Fanta,

I ran upstairs, yelling, “Santa is dead.”

Mommy thought I was upset about not getting a Super Mario Wonder and slapped me upside down.

 

Then Daddy realized what I meant.

And quickly down the stairs, my parents went.

They must have been mistaken; their emotions were triste.

Because they both said “Jesus Christ.”

 

My mother said to call 911.

A dead Santa would kill the Christmas fun.

She said the patient was her Uncle Neil

Do you mean my Uncle was really Santa? How surreal

 

The ambulance came and took Santa Neil to be made right.

And peeled out of the driveway with the siren lights bright.

And I heard him exclaim as he sped out of sight.

“Bluh bluh bluck luck hoy dite.”

 

Do you know what is worse when on Christmas you get socks

When Santa has to go to De-Tox

But there was one thing that day that I did not wish to annul

Under the tree, Santa left me Baby’s First Jack Daniels