Letter to Santa
Lookie here, Mister Santa Claus,
I gots me a wish list. Ya know,
I send you a wish list every year.
But you ain’t never brung me
Nothin’ I asked for. Why?
I don’t need a new dress.
I’m a dude. Don’tcha got
No cowboy hats or boots?
I don‘t need a coloring book
If you don’t bring no crayons.
Yeah, and that new bike
Was just something for the
Ol’ man to hock for beer.
That puppy you sent runned off.
I still got the mange real bad.
The one time you came to
The house, you wrestled me
Down and sat on my head,
Just like Uncle Joe and you
Got his liquor breath, too.
Santa, you fulla shit and
If you show up here again,
I’ll kick your red, blubbered ass.
Maybe I’ll get me one of those
Sonic rockets with a megaton
Nuclear warhead and do a
Holocaustic ballistic blast on your
Great Northern Wonderland.
Like the overhunted Mallard duck,
You’ll just be a picture in a magazine.
If you ain’t got the hint by now,
Chris-boy, I’m pissed.
©2022 Daniel S. Irwin All rights reserved.
Daniel S. Irwin was born, raised, and is back in town at Sparta, Illinois. His card reads: Artist, Actor, Writer, Soldier, Scholar, Priest. He has won awards for his art, acting (over 100 films and 30+ stage productions), writing (nine books and work published in over one hundred magazines and journals world-wide), retired military (Air Force and Army), graduate of Southern Illinois University/Carbondale and has attended four other universities), and is an ordained Dudeist priest with a Ph.D. in Divinity (not bad for a heathen). Once worked as a medic in an institution for the criminally insane…but didn’t notice anything strange about the inmates. Latest on-line work can be found on Horror, Sleaze, Trash Magazine and Beatnik Cowboy. He would love to move back to Europe but fears the plague.