Channeling my true blue Dad and his love of rhymed couplets, my seasonal inspiration. Feel free to share and spread the love:
Twas the night ‘fore Impeachmas when all through DC
Not a creature was stirring, not even the House, see
All were adjourned working junkets or stumps
After giving the president well-deserved lumps
Two unsent articles hung in the south wing dome.
But all who’d deliver them, had long since gone home
Don in his tan booth, Moscow Mitch in a hitch
Had just settled down to a hot tweet storm bitch
The Trumplets were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of witnesses danced in their pointy little heads
Mel with her post-nup and Don in his spraycap,
Took separate rooms for their long winter’s nap,
When in the Rose Garden there rose such a clatter,
Trump sprang from his bed to see what’s the matter.
Away to the window he flew like a flash,
Twisted his bonespur and fell on his ash.
The silicon moon
On the breast of Stormy’s new show,
Gave a vivid orange lustre to objects below.
When what to Don’s Fox-glazed eyes did appear,
But a Trump-stamped sleigh pulled by Ukrainian reindeer,
With a little old driver so lively and lewdy,
No doubt for a moment he must be St. Rudy.
More rapid than eagles his associates came,
And he texted, and IM’ed, and hashtagged them by name:
“Now, Gordon! now, Now Devin! now Pompo and Victor!
On, Lev! on, Igor! on Stone and on Volker!
From the shores of Mara Lago! to the steel border wall!
Now tweet away! tweet away! tweet away all!”
Their frivolous stalls made subpoenas fly,
When they met with an obstacle, they just sued to the sky;
To White House rooftop conspirators flew
With the sleigh of fake evidence, three amigos and St. Rudy too—
Trump tweeted a fast one whilst turning around,
When down the chimney Rudy slid with a bound.
Draped in Russian ferret fur, from head to his foot,
His lies were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of motions he’d flung on his back,
Like the devil’s barrister op’ning his pack.
His eyes—how they glowed! his dimples, demonic!
His cheeks were waxen, his ears hypersonic!
His face it was shifty with an ample beer belly
That shook when he laughed at his critics on telly.
He was a stumbling, bumbling right smirky old elf,
Maybe smarter than he looked, in spite of himself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon lulled Trump to tweet he’d “no bribry 2 dred.”
Rudy spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Filling conspiracy stockings with Ukrainian dirt
And laying his finger aside his tight mouth,
Said nobody talks or this whole mess goes south;
He sprang to his sleigh, gave his team a loud bray,
They all dashed off like crooks fleeing Christopher Wray.
Trumpy heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“I’ve got a beautiful insurance policy AND
Happy Impeachmas to all, and to all a good night!”
Richard M. Weiss c2019
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