Suddenly I Am Santa (A Seasonal Transmogrification Nightmare)
Once it would have been no, no, no,
now I horrifyingly affirm ho, ho, ho!
Suddenly, I am Santa.
Where did it begin? Went to bed
arsey and unkind as usual,
woke with blessings for untold
mites on lips more used to cursing.
Cotton wool sprouted from my chin,
my cheeks cherryfied, outdoing the nose
which was admittedly a bit Rudolph
from twenty years of whisky.
I detect, with dismay, an unsuspicious
twinkle in new, un-bloodshot eyes.
The way of St Nick beckons me,
the path of kindly madness.
I arise and my belly doubles
with a Yuletide phantom pregnancy.
I experience an absurd urge
for unrequited jollification.
What is left of the old me sighs -
it smells of mince pies.
I see that I am attended,
appallingly, by elves
anxious to do my do-good bidding.
My early morning pee glitters
with stardust in the porcelain,
and my cereal sings back
unbidden carols from the
I am undeniably Father Christmas:
let the world beware!