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It was a good Christmas

We had comfort and hair And by the kitchen we sat, Prayed out loudly, For judgement upon Iran These were the times of tribulation And an awful apostle And by the apology of Pakistan, Another brother in tune.

But with Palestine on side, And serious action in the Hebrides We prayed for our water, And the fish we swear by.

For we were in Baddeck And hardly up a mountain

But beware those cuddly conifers- It was hardly worth hanging For the handstands we made in China Appeasing every thallium orifice Like the millionaire to our home

Things to appease Like the generations back Little bits of irony Like waxing candles And bits of lead in our butter The Russians were gone And they took our hens with them

Forty years on the escarpment, And not ready for an elevator, But maybe fans for the heat, It was sudden and dramatic, The stench of polysporin on my hand Which strain was mine- Only water it seems, Would bury the ingot

And nights of sulphur Prorated by the trap We shopped for war, And found it at The Bay, Which was hardly ready for a handout, Unlike the Premier, The Awful One, Who said, “On Side”, And I left for Italy

I even sold my parka For what good is rain And the darker things like lithium And radon, And the feline I dearly missed He was 30 years gone, And I nearly ate my umbrella to between him In peace, We are still forever, The only thing sure- That.

So come what may at Christmas And those Christian robbers at the market Who barely knew whose houses were in order And the CBC knew- Christian Crosses of carolling green Finally new, And permitted by China Who we racked up a deal for. In the name of Toronto All legal things wild for Such a bad liar, The new kids knew Kindred on receptacle The Donald war And we lost our chance So made many miracle And many mistakes For the Vatican The impenetrable maze Of JDI that tried to confuse And kill half of Florence.

We didn’t even know- What glyphosate was And we were in Heaven Breathing lowly on a cell phone While it rained sun upward at us

There was no oil to speak of- Not even in Pitcairn, Where the last deposit ran And we danced for sobriety As it suited our goal And us well The Mormons took off And Garabandal was coming true

Simple things, Like St. Peter at last Who set up His Church For Baptism of Fire Regardless of the news There was time for death When plagues were bare in Scotland So we ratted on the last chance to own a home And you found it in North Vancouver Where 97 percent of worship was outlawed For the irving green Whose abatement of prayer made Suma- A home in Chester, Barely now So I opened my Palm Pilot And started to pray

(“California Dreamin”)