You were singing that part in the carol
where Santa sees you
when you’re sleeping,
and you suddenly grab my arm
because you are in bed right then
dressed in what you always wear to bed,
which is nothing at all.
“Can Santa see me naked?”
I say nothing for a moment
as I weigh the morality
of the mounting lies
I have told you about Santa Claus
and before I know it,
I am inventing another one.
Which is how that rumour started
in your school
about how Santa
has magic-shaped eyeballs
that can only see presents,
reindeer, chimneys
and faces.
So I practice in my head
one more time,
what I will say to you
when it all comes undone
about how Santa might not be real,
but there is definitely
magic at play
that made me do it.