Kids' stockings were flung at the hamper with flair, but fell short, in a pile, with the used underwear.
The children were wrestling pugs in their beds, 'cause a burglar a-tweaking made off with their meds.
And my wife in her flannels and I in my shorts had just snuggled down to some snoozing of sorts.
When out on the lawn I heard a kerfuffle, and, to my chagrin, nothing rhymes with kerfuffle.
Over to the window I raced like the wind, tripped on a stray hairbrush, abraded my shin.
When what to my eyeballs the moon did expose but a chubby white man with a very red nose.
He was trying to ride my inflatable moose. It was clear to me he had been hitting the juice.
"Dude, what are you doing?" I asked my friend Connor, who was leaning to kiss my inflatable Donner.
"Check it out," said my bud, who had flopped on the grass, "I think I am totally drunk off my butt."
"Thanks," I said, watching my breath rise like vapor, "for remembering this is a family paper."
My wife reached the window, threw open the sash, and cried "Lay off the reindeer, or your nose I'll bash!"
I glanced at the night sky and I saw it then, past my rooftop Mickey and his three wise men:
it might have been reindeer, it might have been geese. I thought I was losing my mind (the last piece.)
But here he flew, Santa, and landed his sleigh, while Connor lay gaping, his tongue on display.
Santa's eyes, they did twinkle, just like in the poem, his cheeks WERE like roses. I stammered out "Whoa! Um..."
"You thought I was fictional, just an old myth," he smiled, and my opinion altered forthwith.
He unslung his sack and pulled out an old toy, a Snoopy I'd had back when I was a boy.
"Merry Christmas," he said, as he saw my fresh tears, "All my gifts are not new, some can undo the years."
Then he hopped in his sleigh, and was gone in a flash, and I knew what he'd left was much sweeter than cash.
Weird dream, I thought, after awaking, agog, but it's true that I really do miss that old dog.
. . .
Copyright 2014 George Waters
