The Morning After

He gets it done, you know he does, cause he’s. . .well he’s The Claus. But sometimes . . .

It’s happened once or twice in ev’ry hundred years or so

When, for whatever reason, Santa simply cannot go,

And cause there’s no one willing, (and there are not any planes!)

Then Mrs. Santa steps right up and takes those Christmas reins.

The reindeer seem to know that something different’s in the air,

And get excited when they hear her step upon the stair.

And does she dress in red and white? In fur and velvet? No!

She’s dressed in leather for her chase o’er lands of heat or snow.

In a worn ol’ buckskin jacket and some goggles—Santa’s spares,

A pair of leather ‘racing’ gloves, a helmet o’er her hair,

Some ‘biker’ chaps and leather boots, a scarf that’s warm and soft,

One that covers mouth and nose when she’s up there. Aloft.

She steps into the loaded sleigh, the reindeer snort and stamp,

She smiles and says, “My children, it is time that we decamp!”

“And be more careful this year as we streak ‘cross swamp and heath,

I’d like to try this time to keep the bugs out of my teeth!”

And with a cry of “Wagons, ho!”, she, sleigh and deer are gone,

Leaving Santa and the elves at home to carry on,

And as they clean. And plan for all the next year’s girls and boys,

Mrs. Santa does the work:  delivering the toys.

You have to know she sets speed records everywhere she goes,

They’re still unsure just what flew through in Rome 10 years ago,

Those Salt Flats guys have not recovered—likely never will,

From the blur that passed them both like they were standing still.

And she and all the reindeer have a huge sleighload of fun.

Deliveries in record time. This woman gets ‘er done!

And as she very nimbly hops out of the sleigh. And in,

She’s never lost for laughs. Or found without her happy grin.

And with the rising of the sun, she’s back. She parks the sleigh,

Then checks it to be sure it’s safe to drive another day.

She gives each deer a great big hug and praises all of them,

And tells them, each and everyone, they are her brightest gems.

Then hurries in to Santa and the breakfast he’s prepared,

Expresses hope that what was troubling him has been repaired,

Then with a sparkle in her eye, she tells him of her night,

And all the records she has broken during this year’s flight!

Then Santa simply shakes his head and serves her scones and cream,

And teases her that her new name will be Madam Jet Stream,

And when she’s full. And drowsy from her chase up through the clouds,

He tucks her in and kisses her and tells her he is proud.

So on this Christmas Eve as you anticipate the morn,
Waiting for sleighbells to tell you someone is airborne,
It may not be old Santa who is pulling on the reins...
It might be Mrs. Santa, setting records once again!