Ms. Santa in Malibu


    T’was the night before Christmas and throughout Malibu town,

    No noses were frozen, no snow fluttered down.

    No children in flannels were tucked into bed,

    For kids in Malibu wear dwarf-like pajamas instead.

    To make Christmas wreaths of ice plant, ’twas not hard,

    For non-native vegetation grows in every Malibu yard.

    In homes, Dads and Moms adorned the holiday trees,

    With lights and popcorn and candy from See’s.

    The sleeping kiddies were dreaming in nirvana glee,

    Hoping to find Harry Potter toys under the tree.

    They all knew that Santa was well on her way,

    In a Sports Utility Vehicle, instead of a sleigh.

    Soon Santa arrived the curmudgeon she is,

    She hadn’t a second to linger, got right down to biz.

    She whizzed up the highway, dashed onto Wildlife Road,

    In an Eddie Bauer Special, delivering her load.

    The jovial moon gave Malibu a rich glow,

    And lighted the way for Santa below.

    As she jumped from her Explorer she gave a big chuckle,

    She was dressed in Hugo Boss Jeans with an Italian belt buckle.

    Malibu hasn’t many chimneys, but that caused her no gloom,

    For Santa came in through the north facing room.

    She stopped at each house, stayed only a minute,

    Emptying her sack of goodies that were in it.

    Before she departed, she treated herself,

    To a cup of black coffee she found on the shelf.

    She turned with a jerk and flew back to her car,

    Remembering this night she had to go very far.

    She ground into first gear and took off in a dash,

    And up Highway One she went like a flash.

    I heard her exclaim as she zoomed out of sight,

    Merry Christmas to the Lily’s gang, you guys are all right.

    Tom Fakehany

    Morning-after headache

    It was the Wednesday after Christmas, and all through my house,

    Every creature was ailing, even my endangered Malibu mouse.

    The adult toys were all broken, their batteries dead,

    I’m even sure Santa was passed out, with ice on his head.

    Christmas wrapping and ribbons covered my floor,

    My grand-dog sound asleep continued to snore.

    And I in my new boxers and old bathrobe from Deans’,

    Went into the family room and started to clean.

    When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

    I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.

    Away to the window I flew like a flash,

    I tore open the curtains, and threw up the sash.

    When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

    But a red, white and blue truck with an oversized mirror.

    The operator was smiling, so curmudgeon and grand,

    The patches on his jacket said “U.S. POSTMAN.”

    With a fistful of holiday bills, he grinned like a fox,

    Then quickly he stuffed them into my Malibu mailbox.

    Bill after bill, after bill, after bill, they still came,

    Warbling and shouting he called them by name.

    Here is Macy’s, this is Structures’, now Penny’s and Sears,

    Here is Robinson’s, Sax’s, Target and Cheer’s.

    To the tip of the limit, every store, every mall,

    Now charge away, charge away, charge away all!

    He yelled and he whistled as he completed his work,

    He filled up my mailbox, and then turned with a jerk.

    He sprang to his postal truck and drove down the PCH road,

    Driving much faster with just half his previous load.

    Then I heard him exclaim with holiday jeer,

    Enjoy what you got you’ll be paying all year!

    Isn’t that the truth.

    Tom Fakehany