Playing Santa Claus, by Walter J Wojtanik

Playing Santa Claus
by Walter J Wojtanik

It smells of mothballs,
Red velvet with soot stained fur.
It looked much newer
when it fit better. It was
much redder when it was handed down.
But, the bells still jingle,
a sound that soothes and placates,
it resonates from rooftops
and hillside, taking it in stride.
Taking pride in the mantle, a duty
to take the beauty of a season
and spread it far and wide
all in a one-night ride.
I know what is expected,
I have never rejected this position.
It is a terminal condition,
I would expire without Christmas.
Even if I retired, it wouldn’t be the same.
It is a game I play every year
from way up here in the frozen North.
I don the garb and slip into my routine, of course.
I mean, who WOULDN’T want to play Santa Claus?


Walter J Wojtanik has been writing poetry longer than dirt. Walt’s
collection “DEAD POET… Once Removed” has recently been released. He’s returned
to basics; writing poetry for poetry’s sake and steps away from what he calls
“full contact competitive poetry. Find him at Through the Eye’s of a Poet’s Heart

RWJ issue 4

more rwj


2 thoughts on “Playing Santa Claus, by Walter J Wojtanik

  1. This time of year, because I am old, and fat, and have long hair and a fairly large white beard, complete strangers feel free to just accost me at any time and any place, regardless of what I’m doing or with whom I may be engaged, and expect that I’ll respond with a merry “Ho Ho Ho.”

    Some of them bring (or, worse yet, send) their children to me and fully expect that I’ll play the part. One lady gave me a bunch of grief because I didn’t invite her snotty kid to climb up on my lap.

    Being Santa’s clone? Yeah, not so much fun for me. Thanks anyway.

    • Sorry, Walter. How rude of me. I forgot to mention how much I enjoyed and admire this poem. I think it’s a tribute to the poem’s excellence that it triggered such an strong and immediate reaction. Well done.

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