A Cautionary Christmas Tale, Texas Style*

'Twas the morn before Christmas and all through the West,
Every young human critter felt happy and blessed
'Cause Santa was comin'. He'd be there right quick,
With toys and enough candy to make 'em all sick.

But they didn't know that a problem was near.
Santa'd traded his sleigh for a new one, that year,
With heater and radio and navsat location,
All the newfangled gizmos for sound aviation.

He'd taken delivery just one day before,
And the styling and speed led Mr. Claus to ignore
The advice of his missus to wait just a few days.
The old one went straight to a lot for used sleighs.

Not willin' to wait, Santa just scoffed.
He hitched up his team and took 'em aloft.
He had to move fast, not a moment to lose
For takin' the sleigh on its shakedown cruise.

Santa soared through the Arctic and crossed Hudson's Bay,
And everything seemed to be goin' okay.
The ride was real smooth, with no shimmies nor shakes,
So he went supersonic above the Great Lakes.

The new sleigh had passed all but one final test,
So at Memphis, he pulled fifteen gees and turned west.
What a rush! This new craft was so fleet and so snappy!
Kris Kringle relaxed in his seat, smugly happy.

Down in the heart of each redblooded man
Lives a deep-seated need to go fast as he can.
Even magical elves feel this tug to be free.
On the outskirts of Shreveport, Santa kicked in Mach three.

But somewhere near Longview somethin' came undid.
A rattle took up in the fore starboard skid.
In less than a minute, it grew so acute,
Old Santa had no choice but to open his 'chute.

Now, yer not s'posed to jump at high speed nor great height,
But when your motion has totally ceased to be flight,
Sometimes there's no choice, so you just trust to luck.
Santa tumbled and turned and blacked out 'fore he struck.

A mere mortal man would've died from that blow.
Santa recovered by daybreak, although
'Twas the morn before Christmas and nothin' was right.
Santa'd woke up in Waco, not a reindeer in sight.

Well, you might be thinkin' that's the end of my tale,
But even in Waco you can send out email.
Mrs. Claus picked him up in her reindeer-drawn surrey,
And that night she drove -- the kids needn't worry.

There's a moral right here you can hold to for life.
If you are a husband who's got him a wife,
When she says it's not time yet to trade in yer sleigh,
Just give in to fate. Let her have her way.

Copyright ©2003, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

*The idea for this poem comes from my brother-in-law, Steve Upham. Years ago, he had a coworker who showed classic signs of alcoholism, often phoning with creative excuses for not coming to work. One day when Steve answered the phone, it was this coworker saying, "I don't know what happened, but I woke up in Waco". When I heard the story, it seemed to me that "I Woke Up In Waco" cried out to be the topic of a C&W song or a Baxter Black poem. A Google search found nothing, so I decided to use it in a poem for friends at a Christmas dinner party at the Upham home.