Santa Claus, Jesus and the Fourth of July

Santa Claus appeared
wearing nothing, one night.
He stumbled to my bedside,
whispered, “Don’t turn on the light!”
and crawled in.
I thought it was a
Netflix series
about to begin.

“Are you cold?” I said,
as quick between the covers he slid.
His reply?

“Hell, no…on the Americans’
fourth of July?”

Oh, my,
either this was mighty interesting
or I wasn’t thinking straight,
it WAS late.

Like many,
I’d long buried Santa deep
along with rhyme,
fairy-tale, make-believe,
and other once-upon-a-times
when
right there he suddenly was,
another butt next to mine,
only separated by fuzz!

This rich scene snaked
once or twice through my head,
left me wide awake,
blinking, in slumber’s
stead.

I rubbed my eyes,
felt wonder,
shock, surprise.
Nestled up next me here,
one leg on my thigh,
was my guy.

“Santa,” I asked, discreet as could be,
“Would you move that leg?
It’s kinda bothering me,
..reminds me how Jesus did, previously.
Oh,
by-the-way,
I’ll make you an egg
in the morning.”