Notes About The Poem
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THE SQUIRREL WHO SAVED CHRISTMAS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One Christmas Eve, when all the reindeer wheezed,
Santa sighed, staring at his grounded fleet.
Then—scritch-scratch—a small, clawed architect appeared,
tail a-quiver, eyes bright with stolen seeds.
I’ll do it, chittered the squirrel, puff-chested,
as if sleighs were just oversized acorns.
Santa shrugged. Desperation breeds odd pilots.
The squirrel’s tiny paws gripped the reins~
no reins, really, just shoelaces knotted tight.
The sleigh lurched forward, more wobble than glide,
gifts rattling like a junk drawer in turbulence.
Over rooftops they went, the squirrel’s tail steering
like a frantic rudder. Cats paused mid-yawn.
Children glimpsed the blur—Was that... a squirrel?
—then dismissed it as eggnog hallucinations.
Presents were dropped (some were flung, frankly),
landing in chimneys, bushes, one in a birdbath.
The squirrel, high on adrenaline and stolen frosting,
declared this the Greatest Nut Run Ever.
Dawn approached. Santa, exhausted, offered payment~
the squirrel demanded a lifetime supply of cashews.
And that’s why, even now, if you listen closely,
you’ll hear tiny claws on your roof...
delivering invoices.
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