a poem by Debora Dyess

As I watched the cartoon with the Grinch and Max
I felt every one of my muscles go lax.
Sitting on the couch on Christmas Eve
After I’d asked all our house guests to leave.

Drifting in and out of my dreams,
Thinking on Christmas hopes and schemes
I started as I heard a super loud boom
Come from the far end of the living room.

I stood and rubbed my eyes as the Grinch
And Max fell off a cliff, and I flinched.
I rounded the corner out of the den
And stopped there, astonished at what had come in.

An old man, red long-johns and black shiny boots,
A great big beer belly all covered in soot.
“Were you in my chimney?” I asked, eyebrows raised.
“Why yes, son, I was,” he replied, somewhat dazed.

“This house wasn’t even on my list.
What is your name? I guess that I missed
You and your missus as I started my rounds.
It’s a miracle that your trailer even was found.

“You can thank old Donder for that.
He’s a good tracker, though sometimes a brat.”
Then the old man commenced to open a sack
Sat himself down and pulled out his crap!

“You’re not living here!” I told the old feller.
“There’s room for you down at the shelter.
“I’ll drive you there myself, if you’d like.
It’s the least I can do on Christmas Eve night.”

The old man said, “Ho-ho! You don’t understand!”
But I cut him off as I took his hand.
“It’s alright; my pa’s got Alzheimer’s, too.
I know it’s tough, but we’ll get you through.”

I gathered his goodies and put them all in
To the sack as he picked it up once again.
He looked somewhat confused, I steered him to the door,
But he tried to go back to the chimney once more.

“My ride is up there,” he said with a nod.
I felt sorry for him, said, “You talking ‘bout God?”
I took him more firmly by his old, flabby arm,
Intending to keep this poor gent from harm.

“I must get back to my sleigh!” the stranger hollered.
He looked panicked, knowing he had been collared.
I guess that must be when both tempers rose,
Cause that old man punched me right in the nose!

I stumbled backwards, grabbing my face
And the old man ran to get out of my place.
I caught my toe on the edge of the couch,
Bumped my head on the floor and then I was out!

I awoke to find an empty, cold room
Where the fireplace was out. In dark midnight gloom
I looked for the old man; he wasn’t around.
But you won’t believe the thing that I found!

It was a note, tied to my tree,
Signed by Santa, addressed to me.
It said, “I’ve never done this before,
But you’re on the naughty list now – evermore!”

This isn’t good. This is so sad!
The Claus-man thinks I’m really bad!
Ah well, at least my nose didn’t break!
Chalk it all up to a Redneck mistake!

‘Twas the night before Christmas and Santa’s a wreck…
How to live in a world that’s politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to “Elves,”
“Vertically Challenged” they were calling themselves.

And labor conditions at the North Pole
Were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.
Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.

And equal employment had made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
Were replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!

The runners had been removed from his sleigh;
The ruts were termed dangerous by the E.P.A.
And people had started to call for the cops
When they heard sled noises on their roof-tops.

Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened.
His fur trimmed red suit was called “Unenlightened.”
And to show you the strangeness of life’s ebbs and flows,
Rudolf was suing over unauthorized use of his nose
And had gone on Geraldo, in front of the nation,
Demanding millions in over-due compensation.

So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife,
Who suddenly said she’d enough of this life,
Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whiz,
Demanding from now on her title was Ms.

And as for the gifts, why, he’d ne’er had a notion
That making a choice could cause so much commotion.
Nothing of leather, nothing of fur,
Which meant nothing for him. And nothing for her.

Nothing that might be construed to pollute.
Nothing to aim. Nothing to shoot.
Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise.
Nothing for just girls. Or just for the boys.
Nothing that claimed to be gender specific.
Nothing that’s warlike or non-pacific.
No candy or sweets…they were bad for the tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth.

And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden.
For they raised the hackles of those psychological
Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.

No baseball, no football…someone could get hurt;
Besides, playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passe’;
And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.

So Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed;
He just could not figure out what to do next.
He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
But you’ve got to be careful with that word today.

His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground;
Nothing fully acceptable was to be found.
Something special was needed, a gift that he might
Give to all without angering the left or the right.

A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision,
Each group of people, every religion;
Every ethnicity, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere…even you.

So here is that gift, it’s price beyond worth…
“May you and your loved ones enjoy peace on earth.”

copyright Harvey Ehrlich, 1992

Notice: This poem is copyright 1992 by Harvey Ehrlich. It is free to distribute, without changes, as long as this notice remains intact. All follow-ups, requests, comments, questions, distribution rights, etc should be made to mduhan@husc.harvard.edu. Happy Holidays!