Dear Santa Claus,

(not a child’s letter)

 

I believe in you

All the yous

We’ve owned some magic

From the original story

Though I try to keep

The faith from that one,

Too

We wish, don’t we?

We wish like another saint

That all be well

She has more faith than I,

Claiming that

“All shall be well”

But I have hope

I don’t have much to ask

This year except for

Reading glasses, extra-large socks

(they feel better)

Maybe, maybe a new winter

Coat—in these parts, it does get cold

Wait, how boring is my list?

Each day bears its own need for wishes

I can take part in these

If my list should go beyond

Then

I can ask for love, romantic and

Erotic (yes, at my age)

Though really

The kind that keeps

Not only on a shelf (in case I should

apologize for all the elves)

But on both sides

Of the doors

Of the human hearts

Involved

So I’ll close, dear Santa Claus

Thanking you for Sandy Paws

And all the softer

And the harder things that

I must keep for Christmas

Trying for year-‘round

With love

And respect,

Robin

 

C L Couch

 

A Note on Names

 

Robin

Is a nickname

For Christopher,

Hood, or Goodfellow

I’d choose Topper second

But neither name of these names counts

The rules say nicknames

Can’t be self-selected

(though Lewis somehow decided on

“Jack” and got to keep it),

Rather gained, for better or worse,

At home or on the playground

By good fellows

(male and female)

 

Or maybe, maybe in a hundred-acre wood

When we were

Very young

 

teddy bear slippers

Image by TanteTati from Pixabay

 

(image above) Vincent Guth on Unsplash

Mývatn, Iceland

Iceland lake, Northern Lights