A Christmas Poem

The following poem was written by "Bornfool" and can be found in his blog entry over here:  BORNFOOL: Potpourri  Please drop by and let him know if you liked his poem.


Twas the night before Christmas
And all ‘round the Pen,
In their cells rested
Eight hundred-sixty odd men.

Seg. inmates in yellow,
Protective Custody in green,
Death Row wearing red
So they could be seen.

And I was disgruntled
Having to work on this night.
With my family at home,
It just didn’t seem right.

My post was Ten Wall Stand.
Worse places I could be
Than sixty feet in the air,
Just lots of weapons and me.

My job was to watch
All the area within
Hoping no inmate I saw
Until breakfast begin.

I sat back in my chair,
Checked my eyelids for cracks.
Too soon I was snoring.
My security, lax.

When all of a sudden
There arose such a clatter.
I wiped sleep from my eyes
To see what was the matter.

Stumbling to the window,
I looked out with dread.
The first thing I saw
Was a fat man in red.

An inmate’s escaping!
He must be Death Row!
I reached for the shotgun
Or a gas grenade to throw.

My heart filled with panic,
My nerves all a tingle.
Just then I realized
It’s only Kris Kringle!

It was then that I noticed
The eight reindeer and sleigh
Were caught in the razor wire
And couldn’t get away.

I thought and I pondered
What course I should take.
My post orders were clueless
On what decision to make.

When what to my wondering eyes
Should appear?
The Goon Squad marching toward him
In full riot gear.

The Goon Squad don’t play.
They’re a serious bunch.
This could be all for the Fat man
Was my very strong hunch.

They surrounded poor Santa,
Riot batons at the ready.
I threw open my window
Yelling, “Men, hold steady!”

“He’s not a death row inmate,
Though he is dressed in red.
He’s Santa, you numbskulls!
See his reindeer and sled?”

The Goon Squad didn’t listen.
They ignored me completely.
With their nightsticks they beat him,
And not very discreetly.

They cuffed him and stuffed him
Into one of his sacks
And packed him to the nut walk
By the strength of their backs.

They thoroughly searched him
Then threw him in a cell.
Not a good night for Santa
The Squad sure rang his bell.

So if Christmas morning
Less presents you see,
It’s only ‘cause Santa
Has not been set free.

The dear name of Santa
I no more will besmirch.
I won’t even mention
The body cavity search.

Merry Christmas to all,
Peace on Earth, good will to men.
Santa will see you
In a mere five to ten.