Wee Christmas Story: Gingerbread Zen

Merry Christmas! 

If the year 2020 was a Netflix show it would be described as:

  • Quirky (sourdough starters much?)
  • Brutal (on so many levels)
  • (at times) Sweet (Biden/Harris won!)







My gift to you is a wee Christmas story that could also be described as:

  • Quirky (Bob)
  • Brutal (food gets eaten)
  • (at times) Sweet (it involves frosting, so yeah)

Because, you know, it's still 2020.

(But at least there are some meditative elements.)

So pour yourself a cup of whatever will get you through the waning days of the year and enjoy a bit of Gingerbread Zen!

Picture Credit
  “Ho-Ho-Perfecto!  You will be the perfect midnight snack for Santa.”  

Mrs. Claus carefully placed the doughy gingerbread men on 

a cookie sheet. “Into the oven you go, my little Perfectos!”

   “Did you guys hear that? We’re the perfect gingerbread men!”  

    Gingerbread Bob looked around the cookie sheet.  

The other half-baked gingerbread men chanted:

    We’re rolled out flat,

    cut to look like men.

    Soon we’ll be eaten,

    time to get Zen.


    Bob didn’t hear their song.  He was too busy admiring his 

perfection. “Look at my stout legs and thick arms. I am one tough 


    Ding! Once baked and cooled, Mrs. Claus frosted each cookie from 

head to toe.  When it was Bob’s turn, he reveled in the cool creaminess 

of the frosting as it oozed over his smooth terra-cotta skin.  

“This frosting feels perfect,” said Bob.

    “Treats for my sweet!” Mrs. Claus arranged the cookies 

on a plate with Bob on the top of the pile.  

    “Look at me, perfect as can be,” said Bob.

    At midnight a shadowy, round figure entered the kitchen 

shaking snow from his boots.  

“Ho-Ho-Ho! Treats from my sweet!” Santa Claus bellowed.

    Bob wriggled with excitement as Santa carried the plate 

to his comfy spot on the couch. “I’m so excited the big man 

is going to see my perfectly frosted…”

    But the gingerbread men under and around Bob interrupted 

his revelry. They chanted again:

    We’re rolled out flat,

    cut to look like men.

    Soon we’ll be eaten,

    time to get really Zen.


     “Wait, what did you guys say?  We are about to be eaten?”  

    “O-o-o-o-o-o-o-m!” was their reply.

    Bob shook.  A huge hand took the cookie to his left. 

“Eek!” Bob squeaked. 

    A big thumb bumped Bob’s bum as Santa took the cookie to his right. 

Bob yelped, “Help!”

    Then Bob remembered his pan-mates’ mantra and tapped into 

his inner Gingerbread Zen. 

“O-o-o-o-o-o-o-m!” he hummed.

    Santa picked up Bob.  With a twinkle in his eye he said, 

“Ho-Ho-Perfecto! You are the perfect gingerbread man!”

    Bob smiled and embraced his fate.  “I am perfect,” Bob mumbled 

as he crumbled in Santa’s mouth. O-o-o-o-o-o-o-m…GULP.

©2020, Bridget Magee. All Rights Reserved.



 Hosting this holiday Poetry Friday party is a gift 

in the poetry world, Irene Latham.