Where might they have taken themselves?
A reindeer says, “Their good work is done.
Now they’re all on vacation, having fun.
In Tahiti, Jamaica, Pittsburgh, and France.
Some to Texas: They like to square-dance.”
Where’s Mrs. Claus?” Emmy asks with awe.
“Bernice?” says a deer. “She’s at a spa
in California. Somewhere on the coast
bathing in the sun, as brown as toast.
“Santa always joins her on Christmas Day.
It’s their once-a-year chance to get away.
By the middle of January they come back
to start filling next year’s big toy sack.”
Lottie and Emmy spring from the sleigh,
dashing to Santa’s house straightaway.
The door is ajar. Blame the bad twin.
They push it open and dare to go in.
A hallway glows with warm twinkly light,
gilded, coffered, paneled-just right.
No sign of-Santa. But there’s some mud
the bad twin tracked in. Then-a thud!
A thud from the cellar far down below.
No time to waste. The two girls go
to a massively timbered door they spy,
and down the cellar stairs they fly.
Down, down, around, and down some more
in lantern light to a cold stone floor.
A huge burlap bag, spotted with grime:
This is it-the scene of the crime!
Untie the knot! Quick, open the sack!
Santa’s inside! Pull the burlap back!
Off with the blindfold! And the gag!
Off with these ropes! Out of the bag!
He jumps to his feet, almost topples,
steadies himself, pops his ear stopples.
“Dear girls! How well you have behaved!
Without you Christmas couldn’t be saved.”
Oh, this is Santa, no doubt about that.
From his boots to the porn-porn on his hat,
he’s radiant, glorious, a sight to behold,
the elf about whom so many tales are told.
He laughs-ho ho ho! His merry eyes shine.
His sweet, kindly smile is simply divine.
“You’re Emily. And Charlotte. I know you.
You’re two good girls, through and through.
I’ve never had to bring you lumps of coal
on one of my annual trips from the Pole.
Those were magic ropes, blindfold, and gag.
Only good kids could free me from that bag.”
Says Emmy, “The bad Claus is in the sleigh,
tied up tight. Now let’s be on our way.
We must save Christmas-it’s getting late.”
Lottie says, “Hold on a minute. Just wait.
I’m wondering why, at this magical Pole
your cellar is such a deep, dark hole.”
Santa winces, sighs. “Also dismal and dank.
And when we first moved in, it really stank.
We have a problem with ground-water seepage
and really persistent purple fungus creepage.
Girls, everyone has troubles, even Saint Nick.
So smile and be merry. That’s the trick!”
Back in the square in front of the house,
the little stuffed toys unload the louse
who’s wrapped up in jump ropes and Slinkys,
his mustache still secured to his pinkies.
He’s wide awake now and not half so fearful.
The real Santa Claus gives him an earful.
“What in the world were you trying to do?
Surely you’re not bad through and through.
Confused, misguided, no doubt about that.
You wear my suit well-especially the hat.
Always be nice to kids, give ‘em a smile.
They’ll all love you too-after a while.”
Emmy says, “Be nice, as you were taught.
When you’re bad, you’ll always be caught.
What if we told your mom what you’ve done,
then would being bad really be much fun?”
Lottie says, “You even hit me with a pie.
If your mom knew it all, wouldn’t she cry?”
Emmy shakes her finger. “Oh, shame on you.
Don’t you know before everything you do,
you must ask yourself how Mom would feel
to know you’d done it? That’s the seal
of approval and the guidance we all need
to help us be good and to do good deeds.”
The bad Claus’s eyes well up with tears.
He sniffles, then blubbers, when he hears
the girls mention Mother. “Oh, please!
But for the Slinkys,I’d be on my knees,
begging you not to tell dear Mama Claus
all the bad things I’ve done, because
“she’s the sweetest and kindest of souls
you’ll ever find between the two poles.
I’ve been thoughtless, so mean and bad.