I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus Poem by Maia Mayor

♫ I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus
Underneath the mistletoe last night...♫
….and it was really weird.

Conflicting feelings rush through me as I witness this endearing,
yet horribly taboo act of romance.
My tiny feet trembling in their Santa Claus slippers
as her tiny fingers tickle his Santa Claus chin.
Getting tangled in the confines of his snowy white beard.
Getting tangled like my six-year-old mind's stability,
unable to determine the affair's validity until
my six-year-old eye's look up and remember the mistletoe.

And I'm instantly relieved knowing it's just a formality.
but one I'm beginning to hate for its crude sexuality
as I notice Santa's lack of hospitality has him handling my mother's breasts
like he's checking a toy for inconsistencies.
And then my six-year-old lungs gasp as my mother's
thirty-four-year-old hand reaches for Santa's
ancient butt cheek.
"This is so...wrong, " says my six-year-old's developing set of morals.
"This is so wrong."
And I'm suddenly aware of my dad,
sound asleep a floor above,
his heart full of ignorant love for both his wife and the man drinking her milk.

And my six-year-old heart begins to break
as I wish I was asleep and not awake
to see my mommy kissing Santa Claus.
No not kissing
as if insisting an innocent execution of affection
‘cause all I can see is Santa's stocking stuffer erection
beginning to form between his jingle ball.
My soul has grown and shriveled like a chia pet of trauma.
I no longer feel like a child of six,
now haunted by the chestnuts of jolly old Saint Nick's.

But although my mom may be a ho, ho, ho
I swear I do still love her so.
For I can't help but notice the holy grail of scandal
working to my advantage in more presents than I could ever handle.