I very rarely write poetry, but I wanted to write a modern Suess-esque Christmas Tale. Not my strong suit and it's cheesy, but I'm in an almost nauseatingly Christmas-y mood, so I hope you still enjoy! If not, Merry Christmas to your Scrooge-ish butt anyway!

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Christmas had come in the cold town of Timmons,

Stockings and cookies and boxes with ribbons.

Small Jules was asleep, fine dreams filled her head

Sugar plums? Heck no, 2-lb Reeses instead!



When through her slumber she heard a faint noise,

Was it morning already? Was it time for her toys?

She opened one eye, but her window was dark,

No toys for six hours, or six days for Dick Clark.



Jules closed her eyes, but the Sandman stayed home

His union got holidays, poor Jules was alone.

So she decided to leave the warmth of her bed,

And sneak on downstairs, so softly she tread!



Jules reached the kitchen, and again heard the sound

It came from the chimney, or somewhere around.

It sounded of whining, it sounded of pain,

It sounded of Santa, struggling in vain.



So Jules poked her head in the flue and looked up

And saw St. Nick's big rear, that poor silly Schlup!

'"Santa?" she queried, perplexed at Nick's fate,

The Grinch's heart grew three times, but Nick's butt had grown eight!



"Jules?" Nick answered, chagrined at his plight

"You think you could help me, your flue's a bit tight!"

"How did this happen?" Jules laughed, darn near tears,

"How'd you get stuck - You've brought presents for years?



"I blame this on cookies! I blame it on spirits!

Or perhaps worst of all, high fructose corn syrup!"

"But enough with your questions, your laugher, your doubt –"

"You want your damned present? GET ME THE HELL OUT!"



Jules took a second, and thought really hard,

Maybe some grease? Or better some lard?

With fat Santa stuck in a chimney in Timmons,

He needed a diet; better yet Richard Simmons!



And then Jules' brain started to work,

She remembered her physics, and started to smirk.

If she just lit a fire, and let the gases expand

He'd shoot out the chimney, like a shot – it's a plan!



She told her idea to the immortal old elf

He'd couldn't be hurt, he said so himself.

"But," Santa cautioned, his mind fairly agile,

"I'm holding your present, and I'm sorry it's fragile!"



Jules knew what Nick brought the moment he said it,

She had bought nearly 400, all on Dad's credit.

The last Breyer horse to complete her collection,

Her one biggest wish, a perfect selection.



But she knew time was ticking, she was under duress,

and Santa brought toys to kids with much less,

So she gathered some wood, and then lit the fire,

And then sat on the hearth, to watch what would transpire.



The fire spread quickly, small crackles at first,

Like a man in a desert dying of thirst,

It drank all the wood, it consumed all the air,

Smoke blocked Nick's ankles all covered with hair.



The pressure it built, the chimney it creaked,

She closed the flue doors, the pressure it peaked.

Santa shot out the chimney, like a cannon explodes

and landed directly in Sleigh, to deliver his loads.



Jules went back to bed, without horse but still happy,

If she failed to save Christmas she'd of felt pretty crappy.

But before she could sleep, she heard a faint knock,

'Who the heck is it? it's darn near five o'clock!"



Santa had come back to give Jules her horse,

The whole chimney thing was a put on, of course.

Santa had thought little Jules a bit spoiled,

But she thought of others at Christmas, and couldn't be foiled.



So Santa gave Jules the gift of her choice,

and into the night, a faint distant voice.

"Help others," He boomed, "and you'll get Christmas cheer…"

"A Merry Christmas to all, and Peace this New Year!"