“No maps are needed,” or so the deer say.
“No license required to drive this sleigh-
just a lot of faith and a good pure heart.
That’s all that you need to do your part.”
They have a problem with Santa’s had twin,
who’s flat on the ground on belly and chin.
He’s knocked out cold. Wow, does he snore!
Loading him into the sleigh-what a chore.
First the old troll must be tied up tight
to prevent trouble the rest of the night.
They bind him fast with jump ropes and Slinkys
and tie his long mustache to his pinkies.
Lifting him into the sleigh-they’ll fail,
because he weighs half as much as a whale.
Reindeer noses twitch-the magic is back.
Something stirs in the real Santa’s sack.
Teddy bears, stuffed dogs, toy monkeys too:
all spring to life. It’s a magical zoo.
They help the girls load up the evil Claus,
using their hands, their tails, their paws.
With huffing and puffing the job gets done,
although heaving an evil Claus is no fun.
The last toy returns to the sack with a wave,
and Lottie grabs the reins. She’s so brave!
In the sleigh Emmy sits by her sister’s side
and says to the deer, “Let’s start this ride.
To the top of the world! Up, up in the sky!
Let’s see if reindeer really know how to fly.”
Up into the night the eight reindeer spring.
The bells on their harnesses all softly ring.
Up toward the stars and the big frosty moon.
Charlotte says, “I think I’m going to swoon.
No, no,” says Emmy, “we must save Saint Nick.
And I think I might possibly be getting sick.
I’m so woozy, and my head’s spinning around.
Oh, I’ve just got to hold my cookies down.”
Reindeer are flyers of fabulous skill.
Soon turbulence passes and all is still.
Across the deep sea of stars they sail.
And our little Emmy is no longer pale.
Ahead an airliner appears in the sky.
That’s no surprise. Airliners can fly.
The reindeer soar high over the craft.
A passengers sees-thinks himself daft.
Moonshadows of deer slide over the wing,
a breathtaking and a beautiful thing.
That passenger will arrive home tonight
holding in his heart a brand-new light.
The plane is gone, the North Pole looms.
The sleigh arcs down. The reindeer zoom
toward a hard, endless, icy wasteland.
“Emmy,” says Lottie, “give me your hand!”
Straight down, down, and down some more.
“There’s going to be such blood and gore,
squeals Emmy. “Oh, we’re going to crash!”
But one reindeer says, “Don’t be so rash.
“Believe in Santa and look down again.
Believing makes the difference, so then
you’ll see Santa’s village spread below
a wonderland of light and ice and snow.”
“I see it,” says Emmy, “oh, I really do!”
“I see it, I see it!” Charlotte says too.
Cottages, lamplight, and gleaming spires,
colorful lights on invisible wires.
Trees hung with icing, gingerbread shrubs,
bottled root beer in street-corner tubs,
movie theaters where shows play for free,
with popcorn and ice cream. Oh, golly gee!
T he reindeer land on their delicate feet,
racing swiftly along the glittering street
to the golden heart of the village square,
to the house of houses standing there.
No doubt it’s the house of Santa Claus.
The girls recognize it at once, because
Carved over the door in a lintel of wood:
HE KNOWS IF YOU’VE BEEN BAD OR GOOD.
The village seems deserted, eerily quiet.
A dropping pin would sound like a riot.
No sign at all of the toy-making elves.
Where might they have taken themselves?
A reindeer says, “Their good work is done.
Now they’re all on vacation, having fun.
In Tahiti, Jamaica, Pittsburgh, and France.
Some to Texas: They like to square-dance.”
Where’s Mrs. Claus?” Emmy asks with awe.
“Bernice?” says a deer. “She’s at a spa
in California. Somewhere on the coast
bathing in the sun, as brown as toast.
“Santa always joins her on Christmas Day.
It’s their once-a-year chance to get away.
By the middle of January they come back
to start filling next year’s big toy sack.”
Lottie and Emmy spring from the sleigh,
dashing to Santa’s house straightaway.
The door is ajar. Blame the bad twin.
They push it open and dare to go in.
A hallway glows with warm twinkly light,
gilded, coffered, paneled-just right.
No sign of-Santa. But there’s some mud
the bad twin tracked in. Then-a thud!
A thud from the cellar far down below.
No time to waste. The two girls go
to a massively timbered door they spy,
and down the cellar stairs they fly.
Down, down, around, and down some more
in lantern light to a cold stone floor.
A huge burlap bag, spotted with grime:
This is it-the scene of the crime!
Untie the knot! Quick, open the sack!
Santa’s inside! Pull the burlap back!
Off with the blindfold! And the gag!
Off with these ropes! Out of the bag!
He jumps to his feet, almost topples,
steadies himself, pops his ear stopples.
“Dear girls! How well you have behaved!
Without you Christmas couldn’t be saved.”
Oh, this is Santa, no doubt about that.
From his boots to the porn-porn on his hat,
he’s radiant, glorious, a sight to behold,
the elf about whom so many tales are told.
He laughs-ho ho ho! His merry eyes shine.
His sweet, kindly smile is simply divine.
“You’re Emily. And Charlotte. I know you.
You’re two good girls, through and through.
I’ve never had to bring you lumps of coal
on one of my annual trips from the Pole.
Those were magic ropes, blindfold, and gag.
Only good kids could free me from that bag.”
Says Emmy, “The bad Claus is in the sleigh,
tied up tight. Now let’s be on our way.
We must save Christmas-it’s getting late.”
Lottie says, “Hold on a minute. Just wait.
I’m wondering why, at this magical Pole
your cellar is such a deep, dark hole.”
Santa winces, sighs. “Also dismal and dank.
And when we first moved in, it really stank.
We have a problem with ground-water seepage
and really persistent purple fungus creepage.
Girls, everyone has troubles, even Saint Nick.
So smile and be merry. That’s the trick!”
Back in the square in front of the house,
the little stuffed toys unload the louse
who’s wrapped up in jump ropes and Slinkys,
his mustache still secured to his pinkies.
He’s wide awake now and not half so fearful.