This poem was inspired by some recent conversations I have had with my fiancée concerning how we might handle the ‘holidays’ with future children. I should probably indicate that the future presented below was not one of the more serious options discussed.

As it Shall Be

Bobby, and Suzy, and Patrick
all get presents on Christmas.
They say Santa Claus
comes down their chimney
the night before
and leaves them cool stuff.
They can’t explain
how Santa doesn’t get burned

It’s not logical.
I don’t know who
gives them their presents
but I know where mine come from.

Shadrach, Meshach,
and that guy with the name
I can’t pronounce
I call him Abe.
They come down our chimney
not on Christmas eve
but the night before
the 25th day of Kislev
a month that appears
on a calendar that hangs
on the refrigerator
held by a magnet
with a six pointed star.

Many years ago
Shadrach, Meshach
and Abe
survived the fire
a mean guy
named Nebachasomething
threw them into
so it’s logical
they can survive
our chimney.

Dad says this guy
named Judah Maccabee
was the great great great grandson
of Abe, and Judah
fought against some Syrian Greeks
and saved our ancestors.

The Syrians are still bad guys
but they’re no longer Greek.

Mom says Dad is full of hooey
and that some Syrians
might actually be OK,
and Judah
isn’t really descended from Abe,
but Dad is a genealogist
so he would know.