The once bright and big tree,now shrunken and dull as night falls
A jug filled with beer and some 'brownies' in hand.
I'm sitting here waiting patiently for him
Santa, you call him
We'd talk about scratching my name of the naughty list
We'd bond over Liverpool
And drink till we can't breathe
Santa would share all his secrets whilst I listen intently
My drunken mind registering nothing
He'd talk about the pains he feels in his lower back
I'd help him out with the balm at the corner of the fireplace
We'll laugh as lowly as our sluggish heads deceive us to
We'll wake the whole neighborhood in the end
Everyone would rush to see what exactly is happening
Santa would 'Ho ho ho' his way round the town
His behind missing his bright red cotton pants
His white beard stained with beer
I'd have to provide some answers
I'd certainly have none so I'd go with the truth
But what is the truth?
The fact that Santa is tired of doing the same thing each year
The fact that he wants to quit
The pains he feels in his joints
Or our little chat
I'd say nothing,no one needs to know I did pot with Santa Claus.
-AR🌸
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Debris:A Collection Of Poems
PoetryA collection of poems... A broken analogy A forgotten story A beautiful plot At last, A terrible resolution,to form stanzas worth laughing,screaming,crying,and smiling for. Highest ranking #1 under analogy #1 under poetry contests #1 under wordplay...
