Season’s Greetings

December 24, 2020

This poem from Susan Jarvis Bryant slid into in Snakeskin‘s inbox today. Too late for December’s magazine, of course, and it’ll be out of date by the time January’s arrives – so we’re delighted to say that she has allowed us to share it with you on this blog:

Bah Humbug!

‘Tis the night before Christmas; it pains me to say –
The North Pole’s on lockdown. St. Nick’s sold his sleigh.
The elves have been furloughed; they’re living in dread.
The toy factory’s folded and Rudolph is dead.

The threat Santa poses is now existential.
His starry-night jaunts are declared non-essential.
He’ll sully the chimneys, leave germs on lit trees;
They’ve cancelled his yuletide killing sprees.

Be warned, the “new normal” is gift-less and grim;
Kris Kringle’s gone bust and he’s hitting the gin.
He’s near suicidal with no HO HO HO
In scarlet pajamas with nowhere to go.

‘Tis the night before Christmas and who gives a damn.
The season is missing the bearded main man.
Since Santa’s accused of the worst type of vice,
He’s not fit to judge who is naughty or nice.

The saddest of all is his “stimulus check” –
So meager it won’t buy a present or deck
His bleak, barren hall with one bough of green holly,
Resuscitate Rudolph or bring back our jolly!

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