Suddenly I Am Santa (A Seasonal Transmogrification Nightmare)

Once it would have been no, no, no,

now I horrifyingly affirm ho, ho, ho!

Suddenly, I am Santa.

Where did it begin? Went to bed

arsey and unkind as usual,

woke with blessings for untold

mites on lips more used to cursing.

Cotton wool sprouted from my chin,

my cheeks cherryfied, outdoing the nose

which was admittedly a bit Rudolph

from twenty years of whisky.

I detect, with dismay, an unsuspicious

twinkle in new, un-bloodshot eyes.

The way of St Nick beckons me,

the path of kindly madness.

I arise and my belly doubles

with a Yuletide phantom pregnancy.

I experience an absurd urge

for unrequited jollification.

What is left of the old me sighs -

it smells of mince pies.

I see that I am attended,

appallingly, by elves

anxious to do my do-good bidding.

My early morning pee glitters

with stardust in the porcelain,

and my cereal sings back

unbidden carols from the

breakfast bowl.

I am undeniably Father Christmas:

let the world beware!