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Santa Trust
by Bruce W Niedt
I dont remember that moment in the photograph
when I met the department-store Santa,
but my eyes and body language
belie my feelings at the time.
Dressed for the occasion, a portrait, perhaps,
all of five, in a red bow tie, matching suspenders,
butch cut, hornrimmed glasses, I am pulling away
from his white-gloved hand, glaring at him
with sidelong eyes, realizing that inside the suit
wasnt Santa Claus, just a strange man.
He must have looked like a stranger,
sounded and smelled like one.
Even before the paranoia, before the warnings
about men in cars looking for lost dogs,
we children had an instinctive sense
to recoil from strangers. Even at five
I was aware that a man in a Santa Claus suit
could not entirely be trusted.
On some level I concluded, trust was to be put
in the hands of ones parents, the ones with
the most stake in building that trust.
Two years later, I learned the truth about Santa Claus,
and that even parents can lie.
12/12/2004 Posted on 12/13/2004
Copyright © 2024 Bruce W Niedt
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Michelle Angelini on 12/13/04 at 05:53 AM Wonderful, Bruce, it's a defining moment when you discover that the Santa suit is usually hidden in the garage or attic and that Mom or Dad eats the cookies and drinks the hot chocolate. I remember finding that out as a child. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 12/13/04 at 07:39 PM Well conveyed Mr. Niedt. Seems kids are finding out that truth a lot sooner than we ever did. Me, I went that mathematical route, counting up how many candy canes had been distributed around the house in stockings and io the tree compared to the amount missing from the box, my mother had hid in the closet. :o) |
| Posted by Mary Ellen Smith on 12/16/04 at 05:55 PM Great piece...an experiance we all have had in one form or another... |
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