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”)