Santa Clone is coming to town

      With thanks to the witty and talented Dave Granlund for the chuckle and the inspiration --

a space-age country-western Christmas folk-y ballad

The reindeer have taken early retirement

Like the cops and the teachers and even some firemen

Their overworked hooves are worn and sore

From rushing to move packages from store to shining store.

"I want to decorate my stall, I want to light my way

Across the snowy meadow where the deer and the antelope play."

Go roam with the buffalo, you lazy old goats,

I'll manage without you, no fear.

I'm trimming the workforce and pushing the quota

as quarterly statements draw near.

For efficiency's sake I'm no longer wrapping

And the children are texting their lists.

Look up in the sky, do you hear something flapping?

Compared to last year I'm way ahead

Without an elf, without a sled,

and there isn't a present I've missed.

Each dear little boy will get a fedora,

Each girl will get scarlet-rimmed glasses

To each dad, a home-brew kit

(a guaranteed base hit)

And each mom a Givenchy Pandora,

Distributed by non-union drones

and little Frank and Jenna clones

trailing clouds of fuzzy angora.

coda

Farewell to you, reindeer,

Farewell to you, sled

Farewell to keeping the barn clean
and getting the elves out of bed.

I too am moving with the times

To an offshore island in sunny climes

and an unending supply of rum and limes.

Merry Christmas to all!

Merry Christmas to all! 

This is a re-post of one of my favorite expressions 

of holiday cheer, The Night Before Christmas.

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the flat

Not a creature was stirring, not a bug, not a rat.

Himself in some sweatpants that had seen better days

and I still bone-weary from shopping malaise

Were snacking while sitting in front of the tree

and watching the Yule Log flicker on the TV

When outside on the terrace there arose such a clatter

We grabbed for our Go-Bags, then checked what was the matter.

In New York we've had Go-Bags for more than ten years;

The office provides them in profit-centered fear

that in a crisis we'd rush home without that tiny ration

of band-aid, tinfoil blanket, power bar and Dasani hydration.

At home I'm better ready, I grew up as a Scout.

I'm Prepared for emergencies and won't be without

a bottle of cognac, a warm cashmere throw

and some Drake's Yankee Doodles, they're what I know

will get us through trouble by night or day -

those chemical cakes are indestructible

cognac's medicinal, that's ineluctable -

even though cashmere's somewhat of a cliché.

But out on the terrace – a real jaw-dropper:

a visit from Santa and his new lead reindeer Shopper!

“Where's Rudolf?” I cried, “and his nose of Bright Flame?”

“It's called Maraschino, so he stayed home in shame,”

Santa sighed, as he called to the team

Of reindeer that worked on a measly per diem.

“On Clearance, on Killer, on Twofer and Blitzen,

on Markdown, on Promo, on Goner and Sitzen!”

“But aren't you meant to be up in the sky?”

“Not so much,” replied Santa, with a tear in his eye.

“The prices were falling so early this year,

everyone bought her own gifts, which is why I am here.

The reindeer walked out in a regular snit,

So I took on these new guys who just can't commit.

I'm just riding around out of habit, I guess.”

We gave him some Doodles and some cognac no less.

And we heard him exclaim as he rose out of sight

Merry Christmas to All and To All a Good Night!

there must be seasonal employees at the North Pole

The elves have got the sled all ready

There are new elves this year,

meet Lou, Mike and Eddie.

Lou has gotten tired and slack

from repacking the merch that I've sent back

so the pace is set by happy Mike

who zooms around on an unsold Target collaboration bike.

He's not embarrassed to be seen

on transport in purple, pink and green:

If it hasn't sold, they eat it or wear it.

That's why the elves are covered in glitter

but a diet of fruitcake has not made them bitter --

if you're part of the elf crew, you learn to bear it.

The rejects are sorted by brave little Eddie,

who works with eyes closed and fingers unsteady

which is why we sometimes find

sad surprises in our boxes

mismatched plaids, stripes unaligned,

and not that cute sweater with the little foxes.

Another new face is the list-checker Schlepper.

His job's to keep track of who's naughty and nice.

He goes through every request and letter,

He reads them once, forgets them twice.

Oh, happy elves! Oh, temps of the season!

I'd join your carefree elfin dance

'mid cashmere fuzzes and fallen spangles,

if I only understood your reason

for sending me these positively miniscule green pants

which barely cover my shins and ankles.