Lottie replies, “I was in a pie fight.”
Girls, you must come with us to the Pole.
Santa’s in a dismal, deep, dark, dank hole.
We’ve deliveries to make-games and toys-
to millions and millions of girls and boys.”
The sisters aren’t dressed for the Pole
or for any dismal, deep, dark, dank hole.
So the reindeer wiggle their magic snoots,
and now the girls are standing in boots.
Pajamas transform into snowsuits of red,
nothing at all like what they wore to bed.
Woolen mittens, long scarves, jaunty caps,
“What about a driver’s license and maps?”
“No maps are needed,” or so the deer say.
“No license required to drive this sleigh-
just a lot of faith and a good pure heart.
That’s all that you need to do your part.”
They have a problem with Santa’s had twin,
who’s flat on the ground on belly and chin.
He’s knocked out cold. Wow, does he snore!
Loading him into the sleigh-what a chore.
First the old troll must be tied up tight
to prevent trouble the rest of the night.
They bind him fast with jump ropes and Slinkys
and tie his long mustache to his pinkies.
Lifting him into the sleigh-they’ll fail,
because he weighs half as much as a whale.
Reindeer noses twitch-the magic is back.
Something stirs in the real Santa’s sack.
Teddy bears, stuffed dogs, toy monkeys too:
all spring to life. It’s a magical zoo.
They help the girls load up the evil Claus,
using their hands, their tails, their paws.
With huffing and puffing the job gets done,
although heaving an evil Claus is no fun.
The last toy returns to the sack with a wave,
and Lottie grabs the reins. She’s so brave!
In the sleigh Emmy sits by her sister’s side
and says to the deer, “Let’s start this ride.
To the top of the world! Up, up in the sky!
Let’s see if reindeer really know how to fly.”
Up into the night the eight reindeer spring.
The bells on their harnesses all softly ring.
Up toward the stars and the big frosty moon.
Charlotte says, “I think I’m going to swoon.
No, no,” says Emmy, “we must save Saint Nick.
And I think I might possibly be getting sick.
I’m so woozy, and my head’s spinning around.
Oh, I’ve just got to hold my cookies down.”
Reindeer are flyers of fabulous skill.
Soon turbulence passes and all is still.
Across the deep sea of stars they sail.
And our little Emmy is no longer pale.
Ahead an airliner appears in the sky.
That’s no surprise. Airliners can fly.
The reindeer soar high over the craft.
A passengers sees-thinks himself daft.
Moonshadows of deer slide over the wing,
a breathtaking and a beautiful thing.
That passenger will arrive home tonight
holding in his heart a brand-new light.
The plane is gone, the North Pole looms.
The sleigh arcs down. The reindeer zoom
toward a hard, endless, icy wasteland.
“Emmy,” says Lottie, “give me your hand!”
Straight down, down, and down some more.
“There’s going to be such blood and gore,
squeals Emmy. “Oh, we’re going to crash!”
But one reindeer says, “Don’t be so rash.
“Believe in Santa and look down again.
Believing makes the difference, so then
you’ll see Santa’s village spread below
a wonderland of light and ice and snow.”
“I see it,” says Emmy, “oh, I really do!”
“I see it, I see it!” Charlotte says too.
Cottages, lamplight, and gleaming spires,
colorful lights on invisible wires.
Trees hung with icing, gingerbread shrubs,
bottled root beer in street-corner tubs,
movie theaters where shows play for free,
with popcorn and ice cream. Oh, golly gee!
T he reindeer land on their delicate feet,
racing swiftly along the glittering street
to the golden heart of the village square,
to the house of houses standing there.
No doubt it’s the house of Santa Claus.
The girls recognize it at once, because
Carved over the door in a lintel of wood:
HE KNOWS IF YOU’VE BEEN BAD OR GOOD.
T he village seems deserted, eerily quiet.
A dropping pin would sound like a riot.
No sign at all of the toy-making elves.