We also had to write a prose poem based on the other exercise we had- listing a number of words that started with the same sound. But this time I had to write a prose poem from 40 words. 

My Grandpa sang about a saint and a sinner,

A short but bitter tale with no clear winner.

They found themselves in a sanguine state.

On a cloudy unhappy sky, the color of slate.

Santa stripped but drugs he refused to take,

He simply delivered good cheer; same as his namesake.

He shimmied his way to financial solvency.

Santa was civil, smart and strong. Not a man of infamy,

unlike other sloppy strippers who tossed spaghetti on ceiling tiles

to stave off boredom in a small town that stretched for miles.

Santa was the star of the Salem Street Coven nightclub.

He started as a sailor and stunned his parents when he switched his job.

His father said he was stupid. His mother stammered,

“I’d rather starve than have a son who strips. I’m getting hammered.”

They wanted him to be a sane sailor, not cavort with silly naked gents.

It was seemingly strange to have such a stark turn of events.

Sadly, an honorable discharge for a faulty spine was to blame.

He was a slave to integrity and refused social security in his name.

Strings of odd jobs repeatedly made him tired.

On the last job, he singed his uniform and was fired.

He settled on stripping for his supper,

but never stopped striving for better.

He spied a girl shopping one day while at Safeway.

She was seemingly sans pretension on a rainy day

as she shopped for soap and sundries.

He was smitten. Even if she was wearing soggy dungarees.

The she started softly singing a familiar song

and his heart softly sang along.

He followed her between the stripes in the parking.

She sprayed him with Mace on a string.

That capsaicin spray could stun a yak.

He was sorry that he didn’t suspect she was whack.

Then she said, “Is that you, Steve Powers?”

Steve was indeed Santa’s alias off hours.

He squinted and saw she was Sally. His star.

Sally from high school. Sally in the back of his car.

“Santa’s now your name, right?” Sally smirked. His heart no longer sung.

Steve’s heart stung at the smirk. Straps of shame wrapped his lung.

Sally was the same silly girl he remembered.

She dumped him for a senior who drove a Hummer.

Steve strived for solvency, almost an obsession,

albeit through making ecdysiast his profession.

He felt he succeeded, but not after Sally put him in his place.

Sally laughed and pointed and said “Sorry about the Mace.”

Steve refused to be shamed, “Sorry about your face.”

She swung her grocery bag towards his side.

Sally struck him and he fell, eyes burning in stride.

The car’s tires screeched as Sally sailed out of sight.

Same old Sally. Same shameful Steve. Such was their plight.