on the first day of christmas

it's november tenth.

i see the store

santa setting up shop

outside

the supermarket.

the black swinging pot,

the red suit on,

the fake beard,

the pillow belly, the bell

that's ringing

because of the wind.

he's been drinking

beer, budweiser,

and it's only

two o'clock.

a sandwich from subway

is in his hand.

twelve inches

of italian bread

and salami hanging out.

i see that he's sweating

when i walk by,

a dollop of mayo and

oil on his lips.

i hand him a handkerchief

to mop his brow.

and greasy condiment

drips.

thank you, he says.

merry christmas.

then let's out a loud

sort of musical burp.