Under the Boardwalk for Christmas

J.J. Cunis

Sam the Clam was an industrious planner,

When shotguns of autumn would start to hammer.

Long after new born newts ceased a jumping,

It was time to get his one foot pumping.

He'd set on the journey to insure his survival,

With a pop and a pull, and jump and a spiral,

A blurp and a phfitt, and a blow and a suck,

He'd wriggle and flop, through the slime and the muck.

When the Carolers of Christmas had long gone to sleep.

Pickup trucks would slowly roll up with barely a peep.

Santa like men, decked in waders of rubber,

Had visions of clam bellies, nestled warm in their blubber.

To get under the boardwalk and bury close to a post,

Was Sam's grand plan, of which he’d not boast.

No, not a word to the littlenecks! They’d cram into his bed,

To avoid that horseradish jacket, which every clam dreads.