A Visit from Saint Trump
A Visit from Saint Trump
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Whitehouse
Not a creature was stirring, except the Congressional House;
The bills were hung by the Congress with care,
In hopes that Saint Joe or Saint Kyrsten would be there;
The progressives were nestled all smug in their beds,
While fears of the ‘Rona all danced in their heads;
My first year in the Office has been worthless at best,
My Roosevelt-like legacy more a Quixotic-like quest.
Vice President Harris dreaming of me in the grave,
I’d just settled my brain for the coming Red Wave,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the wood sash.
The flag o’re the Whitehouse billowed large in the night,
And what I saw next gave my heart such a fright.
What in the world could my eyes see appear?
But a miniature Tesla, with eight tiny reindeer,
With an orange little man, his blond hair in a frump,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Trump.
More rapid than eagles his minions they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Blackburn! now, Cotton! now, Hawley and Cruz!
On, Portman! on, Paul! on, McConnel and Thune!
Get on your Twitter and get on the air!
Kill Build Back Better with lots of fanfare!”
Rebut all that nonsense re masks and a mandate,
When you’re met with an obstacle, Manchin’s your mate!
So up to the house-top the insurrectionists flew,
With the Tesla’s wheels spinning, all shiny and new.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard from the Senate
The airwaves were full with the sound of his tenet.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the ol’ chimney St. Trump came in with a bound.
He was wrapped in the flag, from his head to his foot,
The stripes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of Bills he had flung on his back,
Convinced he could pass them with his coalition intact.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His glow like an orange, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a pucker
And out from his lips he claimed, “Joe, you know you’re a sucker!”;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the coiffe of his hair circled his head like a wreath;
His apricot face and his little round belly,
Shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when he mocked me, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know my agenda was dead;
The elections are coming, about there’s no doubt,
And as much as I hate it, his endorsements have clout.
He’ll stump for himself and the Trumpers in favor
Reminding the voters he’s still their best savior.
When he was in office, they had money to burn
Gas was quite cheap and jobs which could earn!
The border was closed, and taxes were low,
While his Tweets might be mean, our stocks rightly did grow!
Then he sprang to his Tesla, and to his team gave a whistle,
The sound of his chuckle caused my hackles to bristle,
When I heard Saint Trump exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Let’s Go Brandon, FJB! Merry Christmas to All… and to all a good-night.”
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