Santa Flaws

A despot in

An icy fortress

Forcing hordes

Of labor forces

To export

His machinations

With no rest

Or compensations

To his greedy supplicants

Puerile pack

Of miscreants

Whose insolence

And sugar plums

As sweet as milk

And cookie crumbs

The funds through which

His child-fetish

Can be sated

Unmolested

Off to bed

And pleasant dreams

As he replays them

On his screens

And sees you when you wake

As well

That faker shakes

His jingle bell

And with his spying eyes

Sees all

His crystal ball’s

A shopping mall

Exalting in his thralls

We spend

A fortune

Glorifying his distortion

And belying

Of belief

In all things truth

With ploys of toys

Destroying youth