Christmas Of /*83 MAG

By Unknown, Unknown, Unknown

   people shove

through crowds of overflowing shopping bags;

santa sits

in the corner

on his ruby chair,

his piercing laugh

echoing in my tiny ears

i pray that he is not the real

santa that comes to visit once a year

because if he is

i'm not leaving him oreos;

his bright shiny nose

poised clumsily on his great round


and his raunchy breath

seeping generously

from his wide open mouth


making me cringe

a huge christmas tree

is advancing in my direction

there must be a person inside

because there is a face peering

out of a circle cut in the middle;

two legs are emerging

from the bottom

replacing a trunk

it leans over to ask me my name

and i kick it

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