The Ballad Of Drunken Santa
#24 of Poetry
Another poem I whipped up because I had an amusing thought. A police officer works Christmas Eve only to arrest a man and his companions, but what are the consequences of simply doing his job?
The Ballad Of Drunken Santa
(12/25/2018)
Late at night one Christmas Eve,
I brush the dust off of my sleeve,
Button up the navy blues,
A uniform worn by the few,
Holster gun and grab my keys,
Step into the frigid breeze,
Driving in my black and white
I see a most amusing sight,
Stumbling out from a bar,
A fat man walks up to his car,
Painted green with trim of brass,
Convertible of exquisite class,
Several more stumble and sneer,
All are dressed like reindeer,
With beard of white and suit of red,
He wishes the bartender dead,
With hand held high bartender waves,
It is I who'll save the day,
Pulling through the deepening snow,
Illuminated by a glow,
Neon sign above their heads,
Drunken Santa brushes off his threads,
Slurs his words and barks at me,
"There'll be nothing under your tree!"
He struggles and causes a show,
I call out on my radio,
Backup comes to help me clear,
Van packs in the reindeer,
Click the cuffs and toss him in,
Shut the door on their kingpin,
Back of my car sags in the snow,
Can't help but laugh at the man of dough,
Driving to the police station,
One of many in the nation,
I park the car and grab the man,
His eyes are wide and slowly scan,
With the drunks he takes a bench,
His reindeer gang have quite the stench,
After Christmas a judge he'll see,
But for now this is where he'll be,
I work my shift like loyal gnome,
Late at night I'm heading home,
Step inside the living room,
My house is quiet as a tomb,
Horror pulls eyelids apart,
A sinking feeling in my heart,
Under the tree is nothing there,
Presents are gone and floor is bare,
Wife comes down to my chagrin,
Joy falls like the wall of Berlin,
Check the house for nefarious men,
But none have invaded our den,
I share with her the tale of morn,
Quickly suffering her scorn,
"You arrested Santa Clause?!"
Angry words stream from her jaws,
"I did my job! He broke the law!"
"Patrons were grabbed by drunken paws!"
She shook her head and stomped a foot,
Our pleasant Christmas now caput,
Grabbed my keys, run out the door,
I've been shaken too the core,
Could he have been the real deal?
Or a shabby suit dressed for appeal?
After a drive I'm at the jail,
A fog shrouds it like wedding veil,
Into the tank I quickly check,
Shock and horror cranes my neck,
Fat man and gang no longer there,
Several benches sitting bare,
Other drunks and homeless bums,
Shout and yell and beat the drums,
Huddled together like sewer rats,
They tell us they know all of the facts,
Vanished in a blinding light,
Santa Clause was quite the sight,
All wear coats fresh off the rack,
Surely they'd trade it for smack,
But kind was the fat drunken man,
Gifts he gave before they ran,
Cameras that don't show anything,
Not even food did the guards bring,
I cannot help but laugh at this,
Another story for next Christmas.