This is a note to tell you
that Wall Street has taken away
the things I really needed:
my workshop, my reindeer, my sleigh.
I now make my rounds on a jackass;
he’s old and crippled and slow.
So, if you don’t see me come Christmas,
I’ll be out on my ass in the snow.
Santa mounts a new challenge.
Booker's Blog 
Recession killing your Christmas spirit there David?
Nah, just the blood suckers on Wall Street who still, after over four years, refuse to take responsibility for their actions and believe they should be allowed to do it again unsupervised, just as they were unsupervised the last time.
Thanks for stopping by and commenting.
This is not an original poem–my Father started saying this poem in the 1960s.
Thanks for stopping by. I never claimed this poem was original or one I wrote. If I had, I would have tagged it “poem by author” or “poem by David Booker.” But it is a silly poem that I like and I have not been able to find the author. If you know who, let me know. The cartoon I have placed with the poem is mine, however good or bad it may be.