365 till next year

I see all the santas
going home,
dragging the empty sacks,
their red suits dirty
from the car
fumes.
the drool of children.
the spill of bourbon
from
flasks kept in their woolen
suits.
I see the crumbs of
cookies and pies,
the drip
of food and drinks
on their beards,
their boots.
I see the fatigue of
red in their eyes.
another season under
their belt.
they did what they could
to bring
happiness and joy
to those
who need it most
and now they go home
to sleep it off.