….so I smoked a joint instead
and looking up, from the bed
is the man in the tan van with The Golden AN
that Lefty spoke of.
He’s coming. A bad habit on a sleigh
until the Coca Cola Company decides otherwise.
Does he bring all the presents under the tree
or just the ones for the kids?
Those Christmas stockings are filled with lies.
puff the magic dragon.
December nights in Frankfurt
good Catholic girls, with credit cards
working for the apparition
without recognition or refunds for purchase and wrapping –
Santa Cola is a man.
Full of ho ho hos and a big appetite
and the other one no different
sporting an entourage stacked with vestal versions
ho ho hos bearing nothing underneath, but chastity.
Ambitious reindeer herder
conspires with sophisticated peasant.
Accomplices, him and Jesus, sucker the soul
women and children first, though,
the sophisticated peasant could never truly decide
which he preferred. A gentleman remains tight-lipped.
Inhale. Slay the whale. With your Moby Dick..
In the winter you can build a snowman
while Mama Claus minds the stove
knitting little hats
for little elves with only one goal in life
make American children happy
so they grow up to be good Christians.
A lie is easy to believe…when it’s beautiful.
That Nat King Cole
following me everywhere with his jingle bells
fawning goodness, but gracious me
my checking fees are still no lower.
Tell them I said ‘high.‘
The fat one says I must be good.
Let’s talk about it after you lose some weight
and fit in, to a three-piece from Sachs 5th Avenue.
Waiting for Godot
to tap Jesus on the shoulder – the wine ran out.
Waiting. Waiting. In vain.
Jesus never comes
to fill stockings
or take any off
unless they make a habit of it, Sister
he sends Santa Claus, with a heavy sack
he does appear!
It will be
in a cloud
Like this one.