Poetry: The night that Santa came

Santa came just once.

I was sitting on my mother’s

lap and she was singing,

I remember that,

and then that

rapping on the window!

Waving, laughing

in the light of

that red wreath we hung

at Christmas time in our front

pane. Rapping, waving,

laughing! He was there!

then —

gone!

But he will come again

my mother said,

to Pittman’s Ten Cent Store

on Saturday and you

can see him there.

Oh, I was there all right

lined up with all the other

kids all sweaty in our overcoats,

our snow pants, boots —

and he WAS there!

And then it was my

turn!

“Closer, close!

I cannot hear

a word you say.”

And then I saw his beard —

not beard at all!

“Closer! Come!”

And when I did

I knew that smell —

chickens! chicken

feathers, poop!

This was Santa Claus?

I knew this man

he lived across the street

from us, had chickens

in a coop

behind the house,

and sold us eggs

my mother sent me for.

One time his Mrs.

showed me that

brown mason jar

she kept above the cookstove

on a shelf, that held his

tapeworm —

one yard long!

Why, this old man

was Johnny S.

Everybody knew

his worm.

They laughed

when I ran home.

But that day was the day

I learned that Santa only

comes but once.

A lifetime is too long

to wait.