Poem -

Holly day cheer, oy vey

while yours truly
a sixty four year old
married playboy wannabe
draws up blueprints of Matt's hair'm.

Lemme breathe smoke free air, okay
devoid of exhaust from swarm
(bajillion) enroute without delay
Santas Clauses gas guzzling
hybridized motorized sleigh,
coordinating global deliveries,
via GPS devices
with weather proof inlay,
nor without the need
to be caught unaware
fall out from skies foggy gray
regarding unexpected pellet size droppings
from reindeer unless docile
creatures made out of clay,
on second thought maybe,
I best remain indoors, sing alone in dolce
and secretly lay
in wait for fictitious busy
body, and yell "HAY,"
whose charitable larding
out gifts all the way
around the webbed wide world
purportedly all done for no pay,
gives me reason (with rhyme) to pause,
and be a bit suspicious eh,
cuz there must be some
legally tendered way
hmm...maybe exploitation or unfair
labor laws he doth not betray
heavy set fellow oft
times donning spectacles—
bifocals tortoiseshell gray
cuffs, white-fur-cuffed red trousers,
or skivvies flying over Bombay
wearing a red coat housing
undoubtedly sweating away
bullets with white fur collar,
now bulletproof in case
he gets trapped in an alleyway,
a red hat with white fur,
topped of with nosegay
and pistol tucked away
black leather belt and boots hide say
animal rights and sweat shop
protesters deem unethical today
so many trappings scream UPDATE
maybe there's apps that
zap from North Pole assay
ying at light speed into electronically
woven into trademark
suits made in Uruguay
by natives originally from
Banda Aceh (pronounced as "H" "A")
to completing stitching outfits
in the event oven neigh
unexpected tsu nam may
as tends to happen unpredictably
this time of year wreaking havoc
leaving islanders homeless,
dazed, confused and astray.

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Comments

author
Lorna

Hi Matthew 
"Santas Clauses"
love this,
brilliantly done
Lorna x

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