A [SLIGHTLY RECYCLED] CHRISTMAS POEM FOR 2007.

I don't foresee myself having the time or the energy to write a new Christmas poem for this year; so I'll recycle last year's--which, I think, was a pretty good one.

You need to understand a few things about Spanish Christmas traditions to fully appreciate the poem. Specifically, that Christmas (and the arrival of Santa Claus/Father Christmas/Papa Noel) isn't the huge event for kids in Spain that it is elsewhere.

Rather, Spanish kids get the majority of their gifts from--and thus, save the vast, vast majority of their enthusiasm for--the Three Wise Men (aka, Los Reyes Magos). Three Wise Men's Day takes place on January 6 (i.e., the Epiphany).

And, so..with that background in mind, I give you your slightly recycled 2007 Christmas poem.

YOUR EXPAT BLOGGER’S CHRISTMAS POEM.

T’was the night before Christmas
And all throughout Spain
Towns were dry, scorched and dusty
Another year without rain.

Water bottles were placed
By the doorstep with care
Although nobody seems to know
Why thery’re put there.

The Spaniards were nestled
All snug in their beds
A day’s intake of brandy
Left dull pains in their heads.

I sat at my Apple
Filled with dread; feeling blue
Yet another damn holiday
With NOTHING to do.

When outside the house
There arose such a clatter
Could it be those damn goats?
Spreading more fecal matter?

I ran to the window
Threw open the pane
T’was a man dressed in red
With a bushy, white mane.

He said, “My name is Santa”
“And I’m ready to scream!”
He seemed to be suffering
From low self-esteem.

He said, “The children of Spain”
“Don’t give a hoot about me!”
“They only want those Three Wise Men”
“I feel as small as a flea.”

I said, “Calm down, my friend”
“There’s no reason to bleed”
“A little re-branding”
“Is all that you need.”

I put my hand on his shoulder
And gave it a pet
And said, “I’ll go fetch my razor”
“Drink some chilled Freixinet.”

With a wave of my hand
And some shave cream to match
I trimmed his beard down
To a funky soul patch.

Then we drove to Madrid
To meet a biker I knew
I said, “My friend here’s in need of”
“A “Keep on Truckin’” tatoo."

A half hour later
His bicep was glowing
He looked in the mirror
And his face seemed all-knowing.

With a confident swagger
He walked into a park
And seized children’s attention
With a loud, mighty bark.

He said, “Listen up children!”
“Or I’ll give you a punch!”
“The fat man’s in town!”
“He eats Wise Men for lunch!”

The children were frightened
Yet they thought he seemed cool
Then they sat on his knees
As he sat on a stool.

With eyes like milk-saucers
Kids looked up to his face
“I’ll bet you’ve dated Madonna”
“And even got to third base!”

When the children disbanded
He wore a Cheshire Cat-grin
“So it’s true that it’s marketing”
“That makes the world spin.”

Then he rose to his feet
Donned Armani sunglasses
He puffed out his chest
And turned his back to the masses.

With a newly-found vigor
He hopped into his sleigh
And said, “From this day forward”
“Spain does Christmas *my* way.”

“There’ll be no more Roscón!”
“No more Wise Men parades!”
“The *true* Christmas ‘El Gordo’ ”
“Stands before you in shades.”

As he flew out of sight
I swear I heard him squeal
“Merry Christmas to all!”
“And to Sal...a BOOK DEAL!”

[This poem is dedicated to my fifth-grade teacher, Mr. Bailey. No, no, no...he's not dead. But he is the original silly Christmas poet.]