Homeless in Vancouver: 'Twas the Morning of Christmas (a bad poem)

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      Though I still haven’t the gift of writing good poetry I am stubbornly resorting to my intermittent tradition of a rhyming blog post to describe some of the gifts I did receive Christmas morning.

      * * *

      Early Christmas morning I was jolted from my sleep;
      When into my parkade I heard something trying to creep.

      I opened my bleary eyes and what I saw gave me pause;
      It wasn’t a mouse that was stirring but a facsimile Santa Claus!

      Momentarily Santa and the homeless guy—each the other surveyed;
      I from inside my sleeping bag and he from the far end of the parkade.

      Then with a hearty “Ho! Ho! Ho!”—or words to that effect;
      The jolly figure in red dropped a full garbage bag and left.

      Shaking my head and putting on socks I approached the bag with care—
      There was no telling what kind of stuff there might be in there!

      Had it been returnable pop cans I would not have been miffed;
      But what I saw instead was a wrapped Christmas gift.

      And looking under the first I saw another and another;
      Presents both big and small—one on top the tuther.

      Wrapping paper flew about the parkade without care;
      And soon the faux Santa’s gifts were all laid bare.

      There were toasty socks and a toque—both black;
      A big blanket, some tarps and sultana bisquits for a snack.

      Finally chemical warmers to keep hands from feeling like ice;
      And a London Drugs gift card for $20 in merchandise!

      This last little present—wrapped all in red—had me exclaim;
      It was addressed to me personally—by my first name!

      Once I digested this fact and got over my surprise;
      I set about sorting and divvying the supplies.

      I carefully packed up the socks, toque and sultanas, to keep in my care;
      But the blanket, tarps and handwarmers I set aside to share.

      Then clutching the gift card I went back to sleep in my “bed”—
      Visions of $20-worth of new earbuds dancing in my head.

      Little did I dream that 12 hours later (and with Xmas provender);
      I would see Santa again but this time with a whole different gender!

      * * *

      To be continued—mercifully in prose.

      A close-up look at some of what the first Santa brought me Christmas morning.
      Stanley Q. Woodvine