A Seasonal Poem

Well, tis fast approaching time of year to be jolly, and, in recognition of that, I've written a festive poem to share seasonal goodwill.

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

When down from the chimney a figure came creeping,

While peacefully, upstairs, the children lay sleeping.

But this wasn't Santa! This shape was - oh dear-

The notorious Grinch, trying to halt festive cheer.

But what's that I'm hearing above on the roof?

There's a face at the window - the moment of truth...

He dives through the glass and he takes down the Grinch,

Who'd been eyeing the tree, wondering what he could pinch.

This man - is it Santa? This beggars belief!

Has Saint Nick left the Grinch bruised and spitting out teeth?

But Santa was once simply jolly and fat,

These days he'd rather dress up like a bat,

And talk about "JUSTICE" in a voice made of gravel:

But not the same type that you get with a gavel,

No, "JUSTICE" is delivered with Batsanta's fist,

You'd better hope you don't end up on his list,

And he's checking it twice, as he puts on his mask,

Flies around the North pole and takes villains to task.

It all started last year when Nick's two favourite elves

Got caught up in a robbery - Santa Claus blamed himself,

In a bid to make rights, Santa trained, over time,

To begin his notorious crusade against crime.

And now Rudolph's his sidekick in bright yellow tights,

The man and the reindeer bring law to the night.

Out went the red suit, Santa's now clad in black,

There's a mask on his face and a cape on his back,

The beard is all gone - in it's place, manly stubble,

There's a new name for Santa, that new name is Trouble.

So this winter season, if you're low on the cash,

And wondering just how you'll manage to splash

out on presents for family - just stick to the law,

Lest the Christmas Crusader with his lantern jaw

Should teach you that Christmas is all about caring:

To help with this point, he will kindly be sharing

His fist, in your face, quite a number of times:

'Til, curled up and weeping, you repent of your crimes.

He can see when you're sleeping, he knows you're awake,

With his new pimped out sleigh he can easily take

off and give back the whole of your ill gotten gains,

But you still learn the hard way - Bat Justice is pain,

While Batsanta's farewell's slightly lacking in cheer:

"LISTEN, CRIMINAL SCUM: I BRING JUSTICE ALL YEAR."