Christmas Season
Santa Claus is a scary dude.
Right up there with God.
He watches our every move
and keeps score with a list
that he checks twice to
prepare for judgement day
and what might lay
under the Christmas tree
if you're not found naughty.
I love that little baby in a manger
and angels, shepherds, lambs ,
a bright star to follow.
But the wise mens' gifts are suspect.
Smart shoppers would bring
a rattle, toys, maybe a lullaby.
Santa, Jesus, Christmas,
a season of light, anticipation and anxiety.
The big question pressing hard
like steel on ice.
Skating around sacrifice and salvation.
For God sake who could ever hope to be that nice?
Santa is not around after he delivers,
thankfully he leaves town and
God sleeps like new parents do,
catching some Z's
after an evening of childbirth,
well wishers, three kings.
Christmas morning.
Hurry! Bring your best intention.
Escape! Wake up before anyone.
Open your present moment.
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