Contrary to what society would have you digest, seeing all of its Santas in obligatory whiteness from age three, I started then to believe he, my Santa Claus is Black
He has thick wiry hair, course but gentle, still enough to cause waves to envy and a 90’s Al B Sure Goatee
Milky brown like Hershey’s his skin is of perfect fragrance of your favorite chocolate treat
When he smiles his teeth throw one into a gentle spin of disbelief. That something so strong can feel so soft intermittently
My black Santa sounds like Billy D Williams wrapped up in the swag of Barack and bass of James Earl Jones
He laughs and the stars crackle, their gases bend to his rejoice seeking no refuge from this cacophony of delight
He bellows to his reindeer, who instead of Donner and Blitzen are named Darnell and Brandon and they get into formation ready to take flight
His fingertips possess a magic and a strong hope, he snaps and his elves fill his bag ready for Christmas night
My Santa wears Timberland boots and a red kangol hat he smells of cool water and cloves Like he could be a drummer in an elite neo- soul band and not one would know.
Ho ho ho
Blue Magic
Blue Magic
Blue. Magic.
