Santa’s kind of a cross
Between Superman
And Grandpa.
He smells like dirty dentures
But has flying reindeer.
He’s part 400 pounds,
Part contortionist.
He can eat his weight in elves
But squeeze through a chimney.
He’s like my eccentric
Rich old uncle who locks
Himself away
To play dress up
With velvet evening gowns,
While his hair and nails
Grow to straggling lengths.
Santa might prefer fur lined pajamas
And come out to play
Once a year but deep down
He’s just like my Uncle Albert.
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