The Lost Illusion

We believe pretty much what we want to believe. 
As a boy of six I saw Santa in my house
on Christmas Eve in the morning. Well it was rather
early in the morning. More than likely it was 
late right after my parents went to bed.

At first I could not sleep because somebody
in our household was making a lot of noise with
tape dispensers, papers crinkling and the
yell as if somebody had been murdered. I found
out later my Dad had broken his toe.

Four score and eight beers ago the it was the 
curious incident of the little toe in the night.
Doctors don’t fix big toes
My Dad didn’t go to doctors.
In retrospect our Mom kept wrapping.

Eventually I fell asleep and
I heard noises outside our
door.
I shared a room with my brother, 
he slept through the whole thing.

I talked to that guy out side my door.
It was dark.
There were presents under the tree the
next morning. 
Here was proof that Santa 
Was here.


I got a creepy crawler set and 
electric football.
Here lies proof that somebody 
was trying to kill me.
I told my Mom I saw Santa Claus the 
previous night.

She could have called me on that bull 
shit. 

She knew that it wasn’t as
We believed what we wanted 
to believe 
and why let the truth
get in the way of a 
perfectly good illusion.