Fat old men in hot red coats
Are popping up
In every corner of our suburb
In some cases
He’s right up front
Decorating the gardens
In his ambivalent garb
Surrounded by an array of arctic reindeer
No snow – no ice – no winter
Not a kangaroo in sight
Sometimes he’s stuck
On the walls of houses
Often he’s climbing a rope ladder
Looking precarious with his bag of goodies
Over one shoulder
Like some fat cat burglar
Caught in the glare of day
At the wrong end of the earth
The only alternative to the now extinct chimney
(I wonder if he’s thought of entry by aircon?)
Occasionally he’s perched on a rooftop
Sitting triumphant with sleigh and deer
In the burning sun
It’s 40 degrees up there in the shade
Old mate
And no firey would rescue you
Because you’re his dad
Dressed up…for the occasion of…
What was it now?
The funniest one
I’ve seen on my walks
Is the blow-up version
Inflation personified
This one,
Sadly deflated,
Lying helpless on the lawn
No air, no dignity, no hope
A metaphor of our times
Of global gravity and overspending
Whose birthday is it anyway?
☺©Bridget McKern 2009
Bridget McKern
Publicity Officer
Society of Women Writers NSW Inc.
The image that is ‘Santa’ has now become more like a cliche rather than what it used to represent — a significant occasion that’s well cherished for all times. A very timely message in your poem. Merry Christmas, ho ho ho ho !
Thanks for your comment Maria Teresa.
I read in our church bulletin last week the origin of St Nicholas who was Nicholas of Myra, bishop and philanthropist (d.342)
I quote from this Anglican hagiography:
Nicholas was a native of what is now Turkey and became Bishop of Myra in the 4th century. There are many stories of his love for God and for his neighbour. The best known story involves a man with three unmarried daughters, and not enough money to provide them with suitable dowries. This meant that they could not marry, and were likely to end up as prostitutes. Nicholas walked by the man’s house on three successive nights and each time threw a bag of gold through a window. Thus, the daughters were saved from a life of shame and ended up happily married. Because of this and similar stories, Nicholas became a symbol of gift-giving, and gave rise to the tradition of Santa Claus.
Others might like to comment on this story and others they may have been brought up with. I wonder what the feminist version would look like?!