Morbidly Red and Green Part III: P.O. Box North Pole


Dear Mr. Claus

They think you just make a list;
it’s not that simple.

Everyone is a moving target,
even the coal eyed children;
and while you’re trying to corner a piñata kid
for a karmic hit of gift-giving vengeance,
or pin the tail of mischief on a
particularly young billy goat gruff,
ripping his Christmas list to shreds,
they up and cross a bridge,
tucking their butts between their cheeks
and apologizing to the troll they’ve teased.

And then you’ll remember the time
you first saw your father with a bowtie on
all nice and neat and symmetrical
and looking like a proper scientist
and what’s more, he tied all by himself
without any help or diagrams
so nicely that a Nobel Prize winner
couldn’t do it any better

And you’ll want to cry.
But you won’t, because
your eyes need to stay dry
when writing a letter back

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