I found a little Santa,

inside a jar of cloves

I pulled him out and deftly

dusted off his clothes.

I said “What ails you Santa,

that you should be interred

inside a kitchen prison

so small and so absurd?”

He said “you bungled dip-wit

insulting me this way!

I’ll teach your hide some manners

till you watch what you should say!”

I pinched the little Santa

and threw him a bowl

and mixed in milk and sugar

a block of cream cheese—whole.

I threw it in the oven,

despite his tiny yells

and baked at 3 and 50

till I thought I liked the smells.

I pulled out Santa pudding,

and popped it on some toast

and felt of all the sweetmeats

I liked this one the most.

And then I realized, sudden

what an awful thing I’d done,

I’d eaten up poor Santa

the one who brings our fun!

I’d lost my temper quickly

and I’d baked him in a pie!

And now I’d have to answer

for the lack of gift supply.

My neighbors came a’knocking

on my old front door

a rapping and a tapping

and shouting “NEVERMORE!”

I had to go in hiding

and dress up like a gnome

and live inside the Kremlin

till the world had torched my home.

If only I’d reacted

in a vastly different way,

I could have helped poor Santa

get safely to his sleigh.

And then I heard a crashing

from just outside my head

and woke up, cold and gasping

safe inside my bed.

I heard a little jingle

and chanced a look outside

and saw a deer sleigh flying

in a graceful, happy glide.

I heard a kindly chortle

leaving happy in it’s wake

“Ho-ho- and Merry Christmas

and please—don’t drink and bake!”

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Photo by Seriously Low Carb on Unsplash