Vos da nite before Crissmuss in my Polish howse. I sneke downda stairs, yoost quiet like a mowse.
Da whole rest of famlee in bed all asleep, while visions of nut rolls trew heads of dem creep.
Wurk sox Mama hung by chimley with care, in hopes dat St. Stosh soon vill be dair.
While over in korner is silly to see, dumplings and kielbassa hang frum da tree.
Denn comes diss big bang making howse start ta shudder, an sum nut lands onna roof an breaks da rain gutter.
He wiggle downa chimley and swears cuz its tight. I hides behind 12 packs way outta site.
He lands inna fireplace, skorching white hair, on bustid up bowling pin still burning dair.
He climbs out an I peaks to get good look. Yoost like pichers in mine histree book.
He gots vodka glazed eyes an stummick like bubble, with 5 days old beard and soot onna stubble.
Wearing biggist tennis shoes I ever saw, he lost alla da buttins off his old Mackinaw.
He won't ketch kold, Polish Santa's no dope, cuz tying coat tagedder is old peece of rope.
I tries not ta laff but give a few snikkers, when I sees da big patch onna seat of his knickers.
Diss is shure Polish Santa I knows widdout fear, cuz he heads for da kichfin and opinz warm beer.
When finished wit 6 pak, he give a big smirk, reechiz inta potato sack an goes rite ta wurk.
Now, under da tree he is startin to set, most byooteeful prezzints a Polack kin get.
Dairs new bred baskit an shuvvil fer brudder, a bright red babooshka an pick-ax fer mudder.
6 quartz vodka to make papa gay. Oy, might be big trubble in our howse to pay.
For baby I know he ain't missed her, when I sees pretty things he leaves for my sister.
Won't she be happy troo da spring anna summer, witt pipe rench an plunger, so she can play plumber.
Denn bote my eyes brighten an heart fills witt glee, wen I sees tings Polish Santa leaves ME.
Dairs wurk gloves and sledge hamnmer, my faverit tool, to wurk hard for boss when I flunks outta skule.
Witt new thermos jug, cabbage supe cannot spill, when I carries lunch onna way to stele mill.
He chugs 5 more beers an makes a wide grin. I kin see ware da foam runs offa his chin.
Giving some burps, up da chimley he rose, while I quickly got inta alla my clothes.
I must see him leave, so's I rushes outside, an looks toward da roof, while in bushes I hide.
An what does I see as I looks troo da twigs, rusty old garbage cart pulled by 8 stinky pigs.
Polish Santa jumps in an gives dem a yell. Come on alla youse, don't yoost sit dair an smell.
On Stella, on Stanley, on Walter an Joe, an alla youse whose names I don't know.
Fly over da junk yard an turn ta da right. Let's visit all peeples before I gets tight.
Den I heard him say as he flew over me, "I'm da only old Polack who gives things for free!"
copyright 12-15-85 Bob Jaskolka
