Santa’s Blues

‘Tis almost that time of year,
That I fly through the air.
Avoiding speeding tickets,
And those low flying UFOs

Last year Donner had the trots,
Blixen got herself pregnant,
Prancer and Dancer retired,
And Rudolph won Strictly.

Kids today want too much,
Who do they think Santa is?
Do I look like Amazon.com?
What happen to wooden toys?

The elves all want to quit,
Some have repetitive strain,
Others demand flexitime,
And not one works overtime.

All Mrs Claus does is moan,
Once I tried the Atkins diet,
But nobody told me no beans,
Oh that poor old Ozone Layer.

So I have decided to quit,
Moving somewhere hotter,
With the blonde from Tinder,
Merry Christmas Everyone.

© Fi S. J. Brown

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