A Visit From Saint Nicholas -- To the Trailer Park
(c) 1996, J.F. Kelley

'Twas TWO nights before Christmas,
all through the RV,
not a creature was stirring,
not even a flee.

The stockings were hung
o'er the dinette with care
in the hopes that Saint Nicholas
soon would be there.

The children were sleeping
on hide-away beds,
while sugar plum fairies
pitched tents in their heads.

All through the trailer park
campfires were out
The Divorced Guys had crashed
and no dogs were about.

When all of a sudden,
a sound filled the air
of sleighbells and hooves
and O'l Santa was there!

He lands on the roofs
of the trailers with ease
(though his reindeer breath clouds
as they huff and they wheeze).

He slides down the vent pipes
with a bag full of toys
for the off-weekend visiting
girls and boys.

He slams down the Oreos
chug-a-lugs powdered milk
then to the next campsite
for more of that ilk.

Old Santa' s just finished
the last of his rounds
when the dark woods ring out:
that most fearful of sounds.

Seems one of the Divorced Guys
in camaflauge gear
was hunting again
in the woods in the rear.

When he saw the antlers
of Rudolph ahead
he shot without seeing
fat Santa or Sled.

"On Donner, on Blitzen!
Make haste or we're toast!"
says the panicking Santa
who's white as a ghost,

I know what you're thinking
"Poor Rudolph is dead",
but the shot missed it's mark --
hit a gas tank instead.

So Santa is safe,
his reindeer are fine;
and there's three fewer trailers
in this campsight o' mine.

The moral for those
who, in Santa, believe:
Take care what you shoot at
on Christmas-Eve-eve