There’s no Santa Close 
nearby the stocking 
in the plastic bag
in the box 
in a box 
in a box
somewhere in an attic 
not far away from an airfield 
reserved for reindeers 
this time of year.  

There’s no Santa Clause
stipulating sizes on boxes
in boxes
in boxes
with plastic bags and stockings;
why not?

There’s no Santa Claus nearby. 
There’s no Santa in my life anymore 
than there was a hundred years ago
when boxes were wrapped,
under living trees with baubles
reflecting the happy dreams
of youth.