It was Christmas
Eve on the High Street,
The vendors were dressed for a laugh -
With checkout girls sporting red Santa
hats,
And elf helpers for post office staff.Outside the Bank a van
screeched to a halt,
Eight raiders rushed in at a canter.
I was heartened they too joined the
seasonal fun,
Wearing masks of the reindeer of Santa.
Alarm bells
contributed festival sounds,
Gunshots could have fireworks been,
As the reindeer effected a hasty retreat,
Pursued by an armed response team.
It was clear the
Police had known of the raid,
A matter which made me quite restive,
As they simply had worn their black,
bullet-proof vests,
And made no attempt to be festive.
Dasher spun round
and attempted to fire,
A move which I thought quite unwise.
The first police shot blew an antler away,
The second was right twixt the eyes.
One six year old
spoke for the child of today -
Innocence, street wisdom laced:
Santa will be very cross with his
deer -
Least the ones that the Filth do not
waste.
Dancer and Prancer
and Vixen
Reached the Shopping Malls
Christmas display,
Whilst Comet and Cupid and Donner and
Blitzen
Were abruptly gunned down on the way.
With toy elves, a
sleigh and some snowmen
Stood a real, living Santa that morning.
Get back or the fat, bearded guy is
dead meat.
Prancer shouted his desperate warning.
The children, they
scattered in terror,
Then confided their one greatest fear:
If that naughty old reindeer kills
Santa,
Will we get any presents this year?
It was lucky that
this stand-in Santa
Had a plan to escape from the mess,
As he liked to play Santa by way of a
break
From instructing for the SAS.
A deft move left
Prancers neck broken,
Then he grabbed for the gun and spun
round.
Two perfect aimed gunshots with
lightening speed
Sent the other two deer to the ground.
The teenagers out
with their parents
Would disparage this scene as a rule,
But were forced to revise their opinions
And reclassify Santa as cool.
The Police and our
Santa, they counted
The venison there laying dead.
'Weve got eight but, shit,
theres one missing.
Where the bugger is Rudolf? they
said.
They quickly
glanced back down the High Street.
The vehicle still by the bank lay.
Hes the driver, they
suddenly realised,
As the getaway van sped away.
It raced off at
full speed towards them,
The Police and our Santa fired lead.
The van hit a tree and exploded,
The last robber-reindeer was dead.
Two pensioners
spoke in a doorway:
Now somehow it seems to me, dear,
That Christmas, as well as expensive,
Is rather more violent, this year.
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