Santa is on Fire


I would be lying if I said

that Christmas isn’t busy.

There are meetings to attend

people to direct

and nights

far too vacant of slumber.

Yet when I do sleep,

I am reluctant to admit

that I have  dreamt

that Santa is on fire.

I stand there

with arms crossed

satisfaction on my face

as Santa, jolly and red

is smoldering, and ablaze.

Tiny bits of plastic bubble and gurgle

the colors on his crimson suit bleed

and drip…and I with arms crossed

and smile on my face

step back and almost trip…

upon my can of gasoline.

Don’t think me strange

or even a Scrooge for it’s just

a dream that

I have dreamt

I haven’t actually torched Santa,

children there’s no need to cry…

but there are days

when I have considered,

with malicious intent,

what the jolly fat man would

look like all consumed

and a-glowing in a red ball of flame.

There would be no more

“Ho-ho-ho-ing” for that

Jolly man,

If simply just poured

out the contents

of my gasoline can…

then, I would  throw my stocking

which is filled with


happily upon the

Santa pyre.

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