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he lay there on his back
staring past black belted belly
past curly white beard beyond
red felt suit and over his black toed boots
ground was cold the pot of gold the bell
he could hear trumpets blaring salvation
army theme song and he imagined short capes
on trim women bonnets banging tambourines
he felt cobblestones beneath him and he fell
through time when santas were the first to know
who was really really nice hear the broken
bottle see the shiny shards of whiskey
littered beneath the lamplight on a drippy
winters eve not a creature stirred yet
it was not what it seemed and the freckled girl
in cotton pigtails the orange boy in too long hair
said easy santa we saw it all

 


Colleen Carias lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico. She creates films as another way of interpreting her poetry.

© 2011, Colleen Carias

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