Santa

[K]

There, in the corner, staring at his list
Two pints long - an industrial tan.
Padding - a pillow, an eking of slightness
Beard upon beard - myth upon man.

Yet, no prosaic approaches for him
Nor drunken sitting of knees, no pleas
For a new Mrs: he's left alone
To sup and tick, a regular guy/myth.

[allmost]

Lik it K. A good thoughtful Christmas puzzle poem. We all have to cope somehow ?!