real

the real santa claus is the one
at the mall by our house.
 
even the biggest believer 
usually admits that they know 

the mall-santa's beard
is plastic & that his stomach

is just a big pillow. 
i went to take a picture with him

even though i'm old now 
& shouldn't take pictures with santa.

i climbed up on his lap 
& i told him that i want to be real

for christmas. he didn't
ask what i mean. he just nodded 

& told me that he would try his best.
i trust him. 

later, you tell me that you never 
really believed in santa at all.

i want to convince you somehow
but all i can say is that 

the man i saw was santa. i know
that he paces the hallways

of the mall at night. that he
takes off his beard & his belly,

a skinny, tired man, looking
in all the shop windows at his 

likenesses, snow globes & inflatables.
he resembles none of the santas.

he doesn't believe in santa some nights
& then he remembers that he's real 

& he gets back to reciting the names
of all the children in the world

in alphabetical order starting
with Aan. sitting on a bench 

across from louis vuitton
he wants a handbag for himself.

he wants to walk outside &
be selfish once in awhile.

he would ask for a fresh pear 
or some other ripe fruit

(all he's eaten for days is
soft pretzels & chick-fil-a)

i wish i could tell him that he's
allowed to not do it all this year

but i can only watch him,
i pin the photograph of us 

to my bed room wall & santa 
tosses pennies in the mall fountain