• “Be good,
    Go to bed early” she said.
    My mother,
    Who,
    At the time
    Was a thirty-five year old
    Beautiful woman
    With unrivaled
    Mocha-toned skin
    And jet-black
    Vitreous locks
    That stood tall,
    Oh, so very tall
    As was the fashion of the early nineties.

    She sat there upon a white chair
    Around a white table, opposite my gran,
    Drinking white wine, watching and waiting
    For my brother or I to make a move,
    To say a word, any word.

    We were a little slow back then,
    As you can tell
    But, we wondered.
    We wondered, why?
    Why did we have to go to bed?
    I wanted to see the big fat man
    In the big fat red suit
    With a big fat brown bag
    Of toys.
    Yes, it was Christmas.
    What a joyous holiday
    Based on the selfless act of giving.
    ******** that
    I wanted presents
    I loved this holiday because
    Of the sole fact that
    That I never had to beg or plead
    To get what I wanted
    All I had to do was write a letter
    Using my chicken scratch,
    Barely being able to spell anything
    Let alone what I wanted
    And Send it in to the North Pole.

    I always wondered why he lived in the North Pole.

    Anyway, I stood there in my one-piece Footed pajamas.
    You know
    The ones with the pleather white bottoms
    Designed in a way that
    When you slide across the carpet
    You conducted enough
    Electromagnetic energy
    To shock anyone
    By a single touch.
    Those were ******** awesome.

    They were awesome because
    You could imagine yourself to be anything you dreamt of
    A ninja, an astronaut, a knight,
    You could even imagine being an ice-skater,
    The way you glide across the carpet.
    The imaginative possibilities were
    Unlimited, limitless. Unless,
    You actually tried to walk on ice
    Which then
    You would most likely
    Fall on your a**
    Something
    I unfortunately undertook
    But that
    Is a whole other story.

    Like I said, we wondered
    But, only did we wonder.
    Never asking what was on our minds
    We marched up the solid
    Grey stairs, shocking each other as
    We went
    Without a moment of rebellion
    But, with a plan.
    A plan, like secret agents
    To sneak back down those
    Soft grey stairs
    Only To spy on the one man
    That just gave.
    And what a plan that turned out to be!

    As we crept upon our tiny tippy toes
    Stopping mid way to look from a distance
    From the stairs
    We saw a figure in the shape
    Of that
    Thirty-five year old
    Beautiful woman
    With unrivaled
    Mocha-toned skin
    And jet black vitreous locks
    That stood tall.
    Which was the opposite
    Of the two children
    That stood upon the stairs
    very short,
    In awe because
    Too soon did we learn that Santa
    Was a woman that we’ve come
    To call, “mom”.
    What the ********?
    A thought, that
    I would have now
    Equivalent to my
    Thoughts back then.

    And to answer my previous thought about
    The big fat man
    In the big fat red suit
    With the big far brown bag.
    He
    Never lived in the North Pole
    In fact,
    He
    Never lived at all
    For he,
    Never
    Actually
    Existed.
    What the ********?