Dead Poem of Santa Zee
Katya Whittaker
’Twas the night before Xmas
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
Not even a mouse.
Alas this is no tale of festive delight
For Christmas has changed since that poet did write.
No candy canes, tinsel or marzipan mice
He doesn’t care if you’re naughty or nice.
The undead have risen - you’d better believe -
They’re coming to your town on this Christmas Eve.
Entrails are hung on the mantel with care,
A pigs head and trotters are placed on a chair.
Glistening viscera drip on the floor.
Carcasses wrapped up with bows on the doors.
Gifts for the undead who come to this town -
The night before Christmas is turned upside down.
The children were huddled all safe in their beds,
With duvets and pillows thrown over their heads.
Stay tucked up in bed, pull the covers quite tight.
There shouldn’t be anyone up on this night.
No sugar plums dancing in this sleepy head,
They’re hoping that morning will not see them dead.
The skitter of footsteps, the tinkle of bells
Signify Santa Zed’s zombified elves.
They peer from the garlands,
They drop from the tree,
Searching out offerings for Santa Zee.
A thud from the rooftop -
The reindeer arrive.
At least one has managed to look quite alive.
Eight reindeer are famous for pulling the sleigh;
These abattoir rejects want taking away.
Their antlers are glistening with blood and with gore
And bits that the cemetery needed no more.
Eight reindeer stand stamping their hooves on the snow
Spattering droplets of blood as they go
And eight heads on eight necks are covered in goo
But just 13 eyes stare back, glaring at you.
Reindeer are pulling this beast of a sleigh
Bound up with the tendons from earlier affray.
No sledge lined in fur, no sacks brimming with toys.
No shiny gifts wrapped up for girls nor for boys.
These sacks undulating are made of raw hide.
They ooze and they drip from the presents inside.
The driver is missing from this gruesome sight -
He’s lurching along to the chimney tonight.
His tattered red coat snags and tears on the reins;
His black boots are spattered with mucus and brains.
Kris Kringle arrives and he looks round your home;
So rotten in places he’s nothing but bone.
Portly and jolly, once his claims to fame.
Now putrid and stinking and calling for “Braaaaaiiinnss!”
He moans at the elves once inside of the house,
A trickle of pus oozing out of his mouth.
Elves bring to their master the best of the bunch:
Kids’ livers and kidneys to have for his lunch.
Not content to make do with these gory wares,
Santa Zed sends all of his elves up the stairs.
His zombelves search dutifully under your bed.
If they find you they’ll take you to strap to his sled.
A bell then rings out - Dong! The clock has struck one!
More houses to visit before we are done.
Clawed hands reaching out for one last intestine
As Santa Zed drags his zombelves from the scene.
Then up to the sky all the reindeer do shoot.
Hunks of flesh ripping inside Santa’s suit.
And I’m sure you will hear as he flies out of sight
"Braaaaaaaaiiiinssssssss to all…
And to all a good night"
