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Santa’s Aussie Saga
With all prepared for Christmas, Santa’s feeling rather bored,
He thought he’d treat the reindeer, with a holiday abroad.
A different view he’s craving, he’s tired of snow and ice,
He spins the globe, sticks a pin, and thinks; ‘Australia might be
nice’.
He checks the weather, packs a bag, he’s set to go next morning,
A worldly man like him need read no trav’ller’s tips and warnings.
Reader, take heed if you should choose Down Under for your
vacation,
For Santa’s pride will soon result in a costly education.
First to go was Blitzen, when he wandered off the track,
A big black spider, fangs agleam, landed heavy on his back.
Comet next as in the bush, Santa thought to stay
An Eastern Brown ambitiously chose venison for prey
A moment’s quiet for their loss, then to the sleigh made haste,
This bushland Aussies dearly love, clearly not his taste.
A change of scene this vast land, could surely still supply,
A sandy beach upon the coast was just the thing to try.
He lays a towel down on the sand, then strikes the native pose,
Beer resting on his belly, and zinc upon his nose.
The reindeer run off to explore, quick to get away,
A Speedo wearing Santa, a sight just too risqué
The cool blue waters first invited Dasher for a swim,
The only warning sign he got, a large and silent fin.
Cupid played with an octopus with pretty, bright blue rings,
And Dancer found a jelly fish, with a million barbs that sting.
The reindeer gather round at once, to break the fat guy’s slumber,
With a snort he wakes and stares, at their diminished number.
Four reindeer heave a sigh as to the sleigh once more they race,
Santa still not giving up, tries yet another place.
A river’s edge now, cool and calm, a shady bank to rest on,
And sporting at the waters’ edge, a quirky Aussie icon.
An otter’s body smooth and sleek, a bill just like a duck,
Webbed feet and beaver’s tail, it seemed a creature down on luck.
Such a strange and muddled animal, shows Mother Nature likes a
joke,
But Rudolph wasn’t laughing, when a poisoned spur returned his
poke.
Vixen folds down to the ground, feeling rather sick,
Her exploration of the coast, had found a paralysis tick.
The remaining two now glance around, feeling rather frightened,
‘To the city’! Santa cries, his mood once more has brightened.
They eye the sleigh, the two of them, feeling disconcerted,
Their choice is clear, still pull they must, or risk being
deserted.
The city lights draw nearer, as through the air they trudge,
A maniacally jolly fat man, and two reindeer with a grudge.
Their landing in a laneway, a little rougher than was needed,
Our intrepid duo scarper off, Santa’s voice no longer heeded.
Santa gazes blankly round, decides there’s one thing left to do,
He wanders to a nearby pub to consult a beer or two.
The gathered locals listen on, as he pours out his woes,
And pretty soon he’s made firm friends with Dazza, Nev and Jo.
‘No worries mate’ they tell him, and ‘she’ll be right you’ll see’,
‘Just shout us all a few more rounds, you’ll find mateship comes
for free’.
Morning comes with bleary eyes, and a pounding in his head,
‘Good onya mate’ Nev shouts out loud and leads him stagg’ring to
the shed.
They all squeeze into Dazza’s ute, for the drive back into town.
They swear they won’t give up the search, till those pesky deer are
found.
A rumour reaches Jodie’s ears, to a dark club they go together,
There’s Prancer dancing on the stage, with muscled men in leather.
News of Dona now they find, with a tale that’s just as grim,
He’s made friends with a union rep, there’ll be no more work from
him.
Santa’s mood swings once again, as he realises he’s stuck,
Survival here, he begins to fear, is only down to luck.
‘Lighten up ya blouse’ says Nev, and lands a manly slap upon his
back,
‘We’ll see my old mate Baz, he’s got a farm down Deadmans Track’.
So in the ute once more they go, stopping by for Santa’s sleigh,
Held down with a couple of ockies, it perches proudly in the tray.
They drive for hours in solitude, on the track with the ominous
name,
It seems to him monotony might be how it got its fame.
The air is still, the dust is thick, the sun glares fiercely down,
Even the trees look dead to him, all in shades of grey or brown.
Then they crest a hill called ‘Devil’s Thrill’, with a view to set
hearts racing,
Too late he sees their lunacy, with each in their own way bracing.
Jo wriggles back on Neville’s lap, her feet braced on the dash,
‘Yeeha’! They cry, and down they fly, he knows they’re going to
crash.
From rock to rut, they bounce and bash, the pace is getting scary,
Flat ground at last, they slide and stop in front of ‘Bazza’s
Dairy’.
With a resounding thwack, the ockies snap, the sleigh flies
overhead,
While Santa pale and shaking, utters words best left unsaid.
They guide his shaky steps inside, and to keep him out of strife,
Leave him in the kitchen sipping tea with Bazza’s wife.
Odd sounds reach him now and then, there’s hammering and nailing,
Then they lead him out the front to see the great unveiling.
The crew stand round their handiwork, their chests swelling with
pride,
‘We hope you don’t mind Santa, but we Aussied up your ride’.
Flames are painted down the sides, a sheepskin cover for his seat,
Flames are painted down the sides, a sheepskin cover for his seat,
A stereo with 12 inch subs, and an esky by his feet.
But best by far, they’d rounded up replacements for his deer,
‘You beaudy mate’ shouts Dazza , as he handed him a beer.
So when you’re listening out for Santa, forget the sound of hooves
o’erhead,
This year you’ll hear the bouncing thud of a dozen ‘roos instead.
Mel Hanley ©2012
