The Legend of Creepy Santa

Last year, property management for our building decided to decorate the lobby for Christmas.  Typical of their design style, it was a mix of incompatible styles and concepts that ultimately looked like Tim Burton overdosed on a deadly cocktail of kitsch, IKEA and Beetlejuice.  A demented-looking, 9-foot plastic Santa was the “highlight” of the lobby. As the days went on, it became clear that the Santa creeped the shit out of everyone in the building, and people began to taunt it.  It ended in a spectacular fashion, which I have chronicled in this touching Christmastime poem. 

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the lobby
Not an employee was working, or exploring a hobby
They moved through the floor with stealth never seen
In fear of St Nicholas, stabbing their spleen

The decorations were hung: mismatched kind of cheaply
And a 9 foot Santa, both mesmerizing and creepy
“He’s Plastic!” “He’s Ugly!” They would say and they’d think
But I would say nothing, for I saw him blink

In the dark of one morning, I heard quite a scrape
I looked over in terror – he tried to escape!
Approaching the door, one dragged foot at a time
Glass walls kept him in, like a trapped pantomime

His movement was noticed by those who walked by
They’d feel his glare, giving him the side-eye
They’d clutch their purses or a bottle of mace
But mace can do nothing to a warped plastic face

Employees caught on, voices spoke in high pitch
“Stop staring at me, creepy son of a bitch!”
He continued on with his cold plastic stare
And got his revenge in their sleep and nightmares

They would move him away, but he would move back
They’d put a bag on his head, like some ugly sad sack
He’d triumph each morn with a gleam in his eye
Showing each employee that he’d never die

In fear and in madness the depths they had sunk
‘Til they lopped off his head, tossing him in the trunk
Though the head remained, the car drove out of sight
‘twas no Merry Christmas for Creepy Santa that night