A Night for Pause for Poor Ol’ Claus
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and behind velvet rope,
Stood jolly St. Nicholas still clinging to hope.
With presents to give and stockings to fill,
He’d stopped by the club with some hours to kill.
*
From the Arctic he’d flown, so distant and frozen,
To L.A.’s new “in” place, on line to be chosen.
But the bouncer was heartless and held no compassion
For those out of touch with the latest in fashion.
*
He stared down the crowd with a reptilian leer,
Wearing jeans and black leather, a ring in his ear.
But Santa made out by the burgundy neon
Why, this was the Bates boy, it’s cute little Leon!
*
He’d asked for a train set when he was but 6.
Down the chimney it came in that bag of St. Nick’s.
But now Leon sneered, his hand in a fist,
“I can’t help you, Claus. You’re not on the list.”
*
At last he relented and let Santa in
To the dark, smoky club--a cacophonous din.
“Twenty bucks is the cover,” he heard through the noise.
And another for checking his bundle of toys.
*
The girl at the counter--how pallid and sullen.
“Good God,” cried St. Nick. “It’s Patty McMullen.”
This lass once so cheery, so happy and sweet
With bows in her hair and pajamas with feet,
Had left cookies for Santa, had squealed with joy when
She awoke Christmas morning to find Barbie and Ken.
*
What was this now? A hand on his pants?
It’s Debbie Dunleavy demanding a dance.
How could it be that she not recognize
This was jolly St. Nick that she held ‘tween her thighs?
*
And when asked if this year she’d been naughty or nice,
Her tongue in his ear was an answer concise.
This mischievous girl in an amorous state,
He’d brought Easy Bake Oven and Mystery Date.
*
Fending her off now, with haste to the bar,
Where a brooding young rapper sat rubbing his scar
Requesting a beer, the dejected Kris Kringle
Paid with a five and got back a single.
*
He guzzled it down and kept right on drinking.
Hoping to silence the thoughts he was thinking.
When up on the stool by his side sat a man
With an Armani suit and an off-season tan.
*
He said, “Don’t I know you? I’m sure I once did.
You came to our house when I was a kid.”
“Yes,” said St. Nicholas. “That’s certainly so.
How are you, Bill Kelly? And how’s G.I. Joe?”
*
“Fox coughed up a mil for the screenplay they bought.
But how are you Santa, you seem so distraught.”
So Santa recounted each sight that he’s seen,
Of lovable children grown bitter and mean.
*
“Quite so,” agreed Billy, “the cult of success.
A town for the greedy, the vain and obsessed.
With egos so fragile it keeps them from caring
About anything save what the emperor is wearing.
*
“Not everyone’s spoiled, though; just take myself.
I’m with ICM now. Do you need a new elf?
I could option your story to Oliver Stone.
I’ll call you next week. Does your sleigh have a phone?”
*
But Santa rose quickly and fled to the street
To hitch up his reindeer, trustworthy and fleet.
And as the magical craft ascends to the skies,
‘Neath the club’s coat check counter, Nick’s bundle still lies.
*
Under no Christmas trees this year will he place
Little Mermaids, Nintendos or robots from space.
The children will holler, will stamp and will shout
But it’s for their own good that they’re doing without.
*
Upward and northward Nick soars on his sled.
And I knew him sincere when I heard what he said:
“A generation is lost, but I won’t let the next
Become selfish and greedy, blase and o’ersexed.”
*
At dawn, Patty yawns and exclaims, “What a drag.
That overweight dweeb left this humongous bag.”
Peeking inside though, it’s magic that happens
When she examines a box and undoes the wrappings.
*
She’s awed and amazed by this Christmas surprise
An adorable dolly that gurgles and cries.
And what’s this that brightens her dour young face.
Could it be a smile? Well, perhaps just a trace.
*
Still I heard her complain, the doll tossed in the trash,
“These toys get me nowhere. Why can’t I find cash?”