Department Store Santa Claus
Dec 30 2010


I went to the mall
in the week after Christmas,
my annual expedition
to its frenzied halls.
The festive green and red
over-heated air.
This secular temple
to the fashion gods.

The seasonal music
via satellite dish
was jingly and bright,
but seemed shrill, and inauthentic
going over the heads
of determined shoppers.
Seeking out sales.
Bearing unwrapped gifts
jammed back into boxes,
clothes that don’t fit.

The food court
was unaccountably popular,
with the smell of fried grease
I’d almost forgot.
Stalls for Italian, and Chinese
rendered bland, and salty-sweet
with “special sauce”;
fast food and finger-lickin’
shoved down quickly.
Pre-occupied folks
who keep in touch
by phone,
and walk and talk while eating.
As well as toys-for-tots
and Santa Claus
and a Salvation Army kettle,
just as you’d expect.

I dashed in
did my business
and quickly went.
Out to the far end of the parking lot,
where the ploughs had piled a frozen wall of snow.
Perfect for tobogganing, I thought,
or snowballs, and forts.

But the kids had all gone home,
transfixed by screens
playing war.



All very true. I strenuously resist going to the mall. But the old camera couldn’t be fixed (as usual, a complicated electronic device rendered obsolescent: either by the frenzied pace of dubious innovation, or the impossibility of fixing deranged chips and cheap plastic), and I needed to pick up the new one. It was the week after Christmas; and the camera shop was right next to the food court.

It’s darn hard to be cynical about Christmas, and not sound both stale and pretentious. So I at least tried to show it, not say it – the usual cardinal rule of poetry, of course. And I tried to add some amusing observations – to at least reward the reader for his indulgence and perseverance. And I tried to tie it up into a bit of narrative – if one can be persuaded that walking out to the parking lot constitutes an actual story! (I especially like the ersatz ethnic food, that all ends up tasting the same!)

The poem can be fairly criticized for making too much of a virage in the final stanza. In terms of tone, that is. (Virage is French, but I think it may have entered into Canadian English in the last few years. It means a sudden change in direction – like the standard English “swerve” – but works much better, I’d say.) On the other hand, there is a natural progression from snow fort to games of war. And it’s a neat sideways rhyme, as well: fort and war, that is. I love the word “transfixed” here. I can just picture the body immobile in a chair, leaning slightly forward; and the fixed unblinking eyes (not to mention blood-shot and demonic …lol!) Anyway, it’s true. In my day (sneered the old-timer in his usual superior tone), we were sent outside to play, and spent the entire day doing just that. We didn’t sit in front of screens (as this hypocrite has been doing for the last couple of hours!) And other than that, I’ll take any chance I get to decry these horrible video games that are full of explosions and guns and blood; that dehumanize “the other”; and that celebrate violence without consequence.

I’ve said before how much I try to avoid adverbs (especially the word “suddenly”): how they patronize the reader; how they’re superfluous if the writing is good; and how they clutter things up and get in the way. So I have to point out that I used “quickly” twice here. I tried cutting it out; but in this case, it seemed to work. I hope you agree. (In this regard, I strongly suggest that you check out Billy Collins’ recent poem Suddenly.)