The Real War on Christmas: An Arctic Holiday Poem


'Twas the night before Christmas, and across the North Pole

In the face of the crisis, Santa gathered his team

“I’m beloved worldwide for my rotund good cheer

“As most of you know, my workshop’s foundation

“For the ice pack this summer was the smallest it’s been

“Move out?!” cried Mrs. Claus. “But where would we go?”

“It gets worse,” Santa pressed, his deep voice grown thin,

“If they spill,” asked an elf, “can’t they clean up their mess?”

“So don’t be surprised if somewhere down the road

In the silence that followed came a great hacking wheeze:

“Is there any hope left?” all the elves wailed together

“There’s a solution,” said Santa, “though it calls for ambition:

Interjected Mrs. Claus: “Don’t you think that’s naïve?

“Perhaps not,” Santa said, “but I hope for the best

“When I fly over this land, I see climate deniers,

The elves raised a cheer, and Santa leapt like a bolt