Down and out over the Christmas holidays, the
dark winter days and the hunger I felt were enough
to cause suicide to take over my thoughts and then
I searched the house for a painless way to end my life.
The medicine chest held drugs and razor blades, but
I’ve used them before and I’m still alive. Under the
kitchen sink I find plenty of bottles that say do not
ingest, and there’s Drano too.
I empty the bottles into a blender because I’m ready to
surrender. I make a cocktail that will surely bring death.
Then I see plastic bags to put over my head as insurance
for after I swallow my mixture that is bubbling, smoking,
and appears to be melting a hole in my blender.
I set a razor blade on the sink to cut my wrist after I drink,
Put a plastic bag on my head to be sure it fits, pour the
stinking blend into a glass, and think I’m ready to drink
when like a miracle, there’s a knock on my door.
I open it and an Arctic wind blows snow over my feet.
I look and look again. Then I hear Santa Clause say, “I
came to your house to save your life.” He went to the black
Cadillac he had arrived in and yanked out a sack.
Like a Greek bearing gifts he carried it inside the house while
he happily sang, “Ho-ho-ho,”
“I don’t believe in you or God or anything else.” I said, “So
take your sack back out the door.”
“Ho-ho-ho,” he said and emptied it on the floor.
My spirits rose when I saw he brought what I craved and
desired. That would keep me alive and I could begin to live.
Believe it when I say, Santa Clause almost saved my life. I was
so excited I took a drink from the cocktail I held.
Santa pulled the plastic bag down over my face and said,
“Ho-ho-ho- away you go.
Christmas > poetry