A Poem for Todd

A Poem for Todd.
(in keeping with the Christmas theme of late)

‘Twas a hot summer day about mid-July

When Santa stretched and let out a sigh.

The elves had all left – gone to the beach

And taken the booze – all but the Screech.

So the jolly old fellow unscrewed the cap

And after a swig, lay down for his nap.

But he tossed and he turned not able to sleep

The room was so stuffy and full of such heat.

So he turned on the fans – the AC full blast

But the thermometer kept rising – so high and so fast.

This wasn’t right, it was not right at all.

But Santa had no one to help – or to call.

It had to be Climate Change rearing its head

And keeping poor Santa from going to bed.

Santa was tired, the old man quite weary.

His twinkling eyes were becoming all teary.

He gasped in a whisper, “I need my nap”

His demeanor was slipping – not a jolly old chap.

Now he was cranky and sweating profusely.

No resemblance to Santa – not even loosely.

The North Pole was melting and so was St. Nick

He needed some magic or at least a good trick

To get things to chill up – to freeze up again

He needed to call a very wise friend.

Santa was looking for his big book of names

He’d find who he needed to put out these flames.

He called for the reindeer to help in the search

But as it was Sunday they’d all gone to church

Yes, the whole antlered lot were part of the choir

And they constantly bickered about who could sing higher.

Not better – just higher – the competition was fierce

And the sounds they emitted your eardrum would pierce

So, cotton was worn in everyone’s ears

While the reindeer pranced in front of their peers.

So there was no one around to help sweaty old Nick

He began grumbling and swearing “Where are you – ya’ prick?”

By now he was naked, as it was too hot for clothes

And water kept dripping off the end of his nose.

“I can’t see a thing, oh where are my spectacles?”

They were found in a puddle under his testicles.

The big book of contacts was high on the shelf

And Santa eventually found it all by himself.

He started to search through the kazillions of names

He knew who he needed – it was no time for games.

About two hours in he found what he sought

A warrior, a winner, someone who fought

Without pride or ego but simply with passion

And this was the answer, although not the fashion.

This tiny, brave girl would be his best ally

She knew all too well why polar bears cry.

And she made people listen, she called them to stand

And be counted – on Fridays – across every land.

Santa could help her and she could help him.

And they better act soon for things were sure grim.

So Santa called Greta and the two made a pact.

They’d go on the road with a Climate Change act.

He could still make things happen – put some pressure out there

It was time to get moving – to take some real care.

With our planet and people and those poor polar bear.

Stop emitting pollution from every source

Start walking to work – or hey – take a horse.

Stop digging for coal and burning it black

It’s our lives we’re destroying – we won’t get them back.

And Santa can’t take any more heat

Not one more degree – he’s really quite beat.

He’s traded his red suit and floppy chapeau

For briefs and a tank top – how far will he go?

The man needs his snow drifts and ice piled up high.

He needs to see glaciers when he takes to the sky.

He can’t be chaffing in places unseen

Because he’s sweating in creases where the sun’s never been.

So listen to Greta – get yourself off your KEASTER.

Or Christmas is gone – and we’ll only have EASTER.

(The bunny’s so overrated.)

Written by Susan McElroy for Todd (husband of Michelle) – and the need to rhyme spectacles.

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