Early on in his career
he asked that question too—
hooked Rudolph up to a circuit board
until the red nose blew,
packaged reindeer meat for sale
and billed it as organic,
and had the elves work every day
in a constant state of panic.
He brought in scabs to break the unions
and raised insurance fees.
He said there needed to be more jobs
then sent them overseas.
Then he looked at himself in the mirror.
He was old and fat.
Making a profit had turned him grey
and the reindeer called him "Rat!"
During the stroke he saw the light
and vowed to take up giving.
He doesn't make a profit now.
Instead, he makes a living.
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1 comment:
Boy, and all this time, I've just been making a living! Feels good, though. Snappy Santa poem, Mike, I especially liked to envision Santa packin' meat.
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