Twas the night before Yule,
in our Alabama camp,
no insects were biting,
not even a fire ant.
The stockings were duct-taped
on the awning hung low,
above our Halloween pumpkins
painted white like the snow.
The feral children were locked
in their toy-hauler bed,
while "Lonnie" and I sipped
on wine that was red.
Later that evening,
we heard the Giant Voice say,
"Real world message-we've
spotted a sleigh."
We jumped out the trailer and
our eyes did exhault
a red streak and 9 reindeer
skid fast to a halt.
We considered our rifles
(after all, it's deer season),
but then we remembered
Maxwell's no-gun rule reason.
A fat man jumped out
of the sleigh and he sauntered
out towards the Fam Camp,
at our trailer he pointed.
At first we were worried,
our kids had been naughty,
escaping and using the
outdoors to potty.
But the fat man just smiled,
so we knew we were free
from getting left pink flamingoes
other campers would see.
He was dressed in a white tank,
combat boots and bandana.
We realized quickly
this was Hillbilly Santa!
He eyeballed our trailer,
all 41 feet,
and nodded approval.
Our setup was sweet!
He left us our presents,
fishing rods and some bullets,
and a book full of hairstyles
best sported by mullets.
Then he cracked open a 40
and chugged it down hard.
Then he executed a hand stand
on the keg in our yard.
He staggered back to the sleigh,
all red-faced and tipsy.
Hillbilly Santa's next stop was
RV parks in Poughkeepsie.
He readied the reindeer
as the tower announced,
"All clear for take-off"."
Down the flight line they bounced.
He false squawked, then bellowed
for all of us to hear,
"Merry Christmas ya'll,
and thanks for the beer!"
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