Nobody buys Santa presents
– not that he’s around to get ’em.
Rushing from place to place
commuting like crazy,
that guy’s too engaged for gifts
so nobody reciprocates for Santa.

The bearded goof is quiet, conscientious,
incredibly generous,
and too shy
to say what he really wants.

Nobody gets Santa presents
just
the occasional cookie
and milk enough to wash away a world
an unfortunate offering
for the lactose intolerant.
So he eats
and he grumbles
as crumbles fall down his chin
washed down with gin
and misery
and the man who brings joy
slowly dies
of diabetes and cirrhosis
and a murderous melancholy
since nobody buys Santa presents.