Santa Visits the Topless Bar

long hours did it,
long hours and those damn
elves, pulling his beard
at work.

crunch time was
getting him, and
all he wanted was
a beer, maybe some cheer.
he'd stay home
but the missus had her
flannels on
up to her chin
and those blinking boobs
on the neon sign
near Anchorage
called to him.

these spiffy young women
wanted to sit in his lap,
just like old times,
they cajoled,
needing presents,
remembering
the last time
they had tickled
Santa's fancy.

and poor old Claus
was lonely, thinking
one lap dance can't hurt,
drinking too much,
thinking this place
was some randy
candy shoppe,
but before long
it was seven
eight, nine,
ten, eleven,
lap dances
and he had to trade
his new red hat
for one more dance.

had to sell
them damn reindeer just
to escape the bouncer
who called him
a deadbeat.

shuffling off into the snow,
Santa began to ho-ho-ho,
big smile on his face
to his amused disgrace,
he felt like dirt
(poor Santa had lost
his shirt!)