Twas the week before Christmas, when all through our states
Trump zealots obsess as the left celebrates
Allegations are flung all about without care,
In hopes they’d unmask the unfairness of fair;
The sides they both wrestle with which one was which
While visions of truth dance a twitterbug twitch;
And mamma in her wisdom, and I in my dolt,
Find ourselves caught in their jitterbug jolt.
Jerked here and shoved there in pandemicus clatter,
Unreason trumps reason, and death doesn't matter.
Away out the window hope flew like a flash,
As did comfort and health and a whole lotta cash.
But the loon in his nest, now the fact he must go
Gives the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
And then what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a shot, a vaccine, some more hope for next year.
And this new old white driver and lively sidekick,
Will this be enough? Will this do the trick?
More rapid than eagles, the issues they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Covid! Now, Health Care! Now, Racial Unrest!
Injustice! Disunion! On, Poor and Oppressed!
From the Populist Strife! To the Trump Border Wall!
There is urgent work now in front of us all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the White House the new team will go,
With a sleigh full of hope for Kamala and Joe.
But then, in a twinkling, I think we’ll find out
All this prancing and pawing will not erase doubt,
As Joe draws in his head and is turning around,
Down the chimney comes Mitch and his cronies unbound.
They’re dressed all in prickles and barbs and sharp thorns,
And they’ll tarnish Joe’s efforts and blow their own horns,
A bundle of subterfuge flung far and wide,
Backbiting and fighting though we're on the same side.
Joe's eyes how they crinkle when he looks with disdain!
He should know his contempt, it leaves nothing to gain!
His droll little mouth when drawn up like a bow,
Spawns further division and political woe.
The bumps and the bruises this nation's endured,
You'd think that our vision would not be so blurred;
You'd think that our justice would not be so smelly;
You'd think we'd be better than Machiavelli.
And perhaps Joe will be our jolly old elf,
And make some improvements in spite of himself;
But that wink of his eye and that shake of his head,
Leaves me to wonder what more I might dread.
Best to speak not a word; go straight to his works,
And fill all our stockings; ignore all the jerks,
But alas I believe that the games will win out,
And not one of our leaders will hear my sad shout;
“Stop killing the people, the planet, the hope!
Start doling out justice and help us to cope!
Stop fighting each other, the future, the facts!
Start thinking before your reaction reacts!”
“From 3 to 8 billion in the blink of my eye!
It's too late to blame or to argue the why!
I'm here to exclaim as I fade out of sight!
Think first! Then act fast! Or to all a good-night!”