This is a note to tell you
that Wall Street has taken away
the things I really needed:
my workshop, my reindeer, my sleigh.
I now make my rounds on a jackass;
he’s old and crippled and slow.
So, if you don’t see me come Christmas,
I’ll be out on my ass in the snow.
Santa mounts a new challenge.
[Editor’s note: original appeared in Dec. 2012, but brought back because it still applies. And because I can.]
Filed under cartoon by author, Christmas, poetry, Santa Claus, satire
The jackass and the giant were outside chewing the fat. At a time when Christmas decorations were the focus of buyers, they were barely tolerated by the shoppers and passersby.
“Do you ever miss it?” the jackass asked when they were alone.
“Oh, sometimes,” the green giant said. “Particularly now that I’m working on my memoir. Brings back a lot of memories.”
The jackass and the green giant were outside chewing the fat.
“I didn’t know you wrote. Didn’t even know you knew how.”
The green giant blushed slightly red on the green. Made him look a little orange in the face. “Taught myself on the sly. Had to. I wanted to prove I wasn’t just another alien here to take their money and take a job away from a local.
“Then my contract came due and since I could now read, I could figure out that was working for beans. So, I demanded more money and they didn’t renew the contract.”
“They fired you?!” the donkey asked, his eyes wide.
“Pretty much.”
“They can’t do that.”
The green giant smiled. “They found somebody who would do it for less.”
“Why, those corporate mules!”
“Something like that.”
The jackass kicked back a hind leg and almost broke a door.
The green giant didn’t say anything more.
“You’re shorter than I expected,” the jackass said. “I thought you’d be taller.”
“A trick of modern film editing.”
“So what’s your memoir going to be called?”
The man smiled. “The memoir of a has bean. How I sold my soul a little green, but got stuck in the brown.”
The jackass nodded. “Catchy. ‘Specially that stuck in the brown part.”
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