Poet Authority Poem Terminal

Sorry.

A very sad and lonely man.

Ate pineapple for two.

It was too much pineapple.

Double the amount he'd have liked.

Maybe a bit less.

This worked well.

A little too well after the first few seconds.

Some might say.

Such as the neighbours and the fire department.

He replaced his reindeer with motorbikes.

And also his sleigh with a motorbike.

Then he set about training the reindeer to ride with him.

Their antlers wouldn't fit in the helmets,

So that was a bad start.

They'd be called something like Santa's Reindeer I suppose.

Santa crashed his sleigh.

Rudolph was largely to blame,

But being Santa's favourite,

The other reindeer such as Vixen and Prancer took the brunt of the blame.

Dasher was getting an earful while firefighters cut Santa out of his sleigh with their big claw thing.

Mrs Claus, who had filmed the whole thing to show to the family,

But otherwise done nothing to help,

Had to go and buy a beard from some fancy dress shop.

Santa looked ridiculous in it.

It was cheap and itchy.

He couldn't believe this.

Santa went for a more traditional look this year.

Similar to one of those olden days Christmas cards.

With the green or blue or whatever coat and what have you.

The point is he was damn near unrecognisable.

Mrs Claus found herself slumped over his hospital bed.

Praying he'd pull through.

He'd been shot during a routine delivery.

In America, of course.

Which meant the medical bills would be astronomical too.

He hadn't read the fine print,

This thing was still alive!

It wasn't a festive scene,

Trying to cave a turkey's head in with a shovel.

Children were screaming,

The Christmas Tree had spilled across the living room.

Agnes turned the oven off.

It looked like this could be going on for a while.

It seemed best to save some energy.

It ran back to the forest to find its friends.

As you might expect,

They were all gone,

For the same reason this tree was.

The tree became depressed.

I convinced it to return home,

But the tinsel and baubles sort of just drooped down.

It all looked quite sad.

Ultimately I had to burn it and buy a new one.

It came from the big man himself,

Santa.

He was going on strike this year,

Unless the volume of mince pies increased.

He demands Marks and Spencer,

Says some cookies wouldn't go amiss either.

The press release continues.

And milk,

Should be replaced with a pint of cider.

He'd got a big bowl and dumped several bags of crisps in there.

That was it, for the entire day!

But he'd mixed the flavours,

This was key.

Gave the guests something to talk about.

Not to mention the Christmas tunes blasting out of the stereo.

You know, Wham!, plus those other bands you only hear about once a year.

Those really helped with the whole vibe.

He found himself growing attached to the construction.

Soon he was scooping it into a wheelbarrow.

Transporting it to the fridge.

Here the snowman would live.

Too cold for Santa.

He has an elf slap on some stilts,

Dress up in his iconic red and white ensemble,

And carry out his chores for the day.

Santa stays in bed,

Spooning Rudolph.

Sticky tape was being used to close the wounds.

Occasionally one would get dragged off to the medical workshop for more drastic repairs.

And tied herself to the bed.

She put in a request for Santa to unwrap her.

The last thing he needed was to see another person tangled in that nonsense.

He went to sleep without giving the situation a second glance.

Some elves were called in to handle the job.

Elves were drinking mulled wine and snorting tinsel on the job.

Behind Santa's back, obviously.

Standards dropped dramatically.

Toys were barely holding themselves together.

The elves couldn't care less.

The workplace felt more festive than ever.

Why did they get the young women?

Why was he stuck with these annoying little elves?

Sure he had issues with their business practices,

We all do.

That didn't override the fact that it was all so convenient.

And he was still claiming student prime.

Apart from underwear to avoid any indecent exposure incidents,

In his own home.

He fanned himself,

With one of those fancy looking fans from a distant land,

And waved his middle fingers at anyone who dared glance in.

He was of course freezing his lad off,

Like all of us,

But the neighbours shouldn't know that.

Marched off to wrangle a polar bear

To create the perfect Christmas scene.

Four lost their lives,

Including the polar bear itself.

It was stuffed and used anyway,

After Mrs Claus had scrubbed the blood from its fur.