Poetry by Melissa Wold
Santa, my man. How did you wind up in this place?
Santa, my man. How did you crack your face?
Tossed amid dusty knickknacks, chipped china plates.
Did Mrs. Claus catch your paws on the photo gal at the mall?
Did Mrs. Claus without pause pack your bag? What gall!
Now you sit lost on a shelf without an elf or Ken or Barbie doll.
Santa my man, come on home with me.
We’ll boogie round the tinseled tree.
Santa, my man, come on home with me.
Did you take to bettin’ on reindeer races?
Did you take to bettin’ on penguins running bases?
Money squandered on plastic roses in cob-webbed vases?
Did you binge on Jim Beam at the corner bar?
Did you still white lightning in a mason jar?
Serendipity plunked you into a martini glass tucked in a boxcar.
Santa my man, come on home with me.
We’ll boogie round the tinseled tree.
Santa, my man, come on home with me.
Did you and the elves have a spat?
Did they pull your beard? Did you rip off their hats?
Letters flake off a weather-worn welcome mat.
Santa, my man, hang your head in shame.
Santa my man, fess up, who’s to blame for your flagging fame?
Ninety-nine cents buys you and a sea-shell picture frame?
Santa my man, come on home with me.
We’ll boogie round the tinseled tree.
Santa, my man, come on home with me.
Melissa Wold is retired from a career in student services area of higher education. She writes with a group affiliated with Mobile Botanical Gardens in Mobile, Alabama. She shares her poems with Rocket, her rat terrier. He is quick with his barking critiques. Read her first published poem in The Bluebird Word from November 2022.
