Santa Claus in Exile
Lost in a sea of ice and
vodka, he stumbles the deck,
then hauls himself onto the couch
to sleep off the moonlight.
Discarded presents litter the carpet;
in his breast pocket burns a letter
from his wife: All the reindeer have fled,
and the sled was sold for parts.
He wakes to the screams
of children, but finds the fire
place cold, the house empty, and a plate
of gingerbread men, missing their heads.