Good Jül! Here a poyim ta shiv in your pipe
I caught Santa, nudging out onto Byres Road
near the height of the seasonal panic and topical
flim flammery. Half a Pall Mall threatened to crumble
its ash south of the Clyde. ‘One false move,’
you could near hear it say ‘and the beard gets it!’
I’d tremble and quake behind the velvet reek it flung
nostrilward and eyeward. Big Claus though, if he noticed
it hardly showed as he flung the green Berlingo right
where even the whitest of Transits deem tippy tapping
and maximum peeping contingent to their creep.
What tunes turned on his ultimate audio? When did his
ho-ho-ho go home, leave the bitch pointing up
the hill in first and call it a day?