‘TWAS THE FIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

I have “reinterpreted” Clement Clarke Moore’s classic poem as a commentary on the state of politics in America for the past seven years. As each New Year begins, I believe that nothing in the world of politics will surpass the year just past in terms of egregious episodes of ethical banality. But my belief/hope continues to be dashed each year.

Now, I truly want to believe that nothing will ever exceed 2019. With the impeachment of the president in every headline and the sociopolitical impacts of the total absence of morality in the current White House, I need to believe that we’ve reached the bottom.

The results of the mid-term elections which have allowed Congress to begin to hopefully get us back on track have provided me to end my reinterpretation this year of Clarke Moore’s poem on an upbeat note.

It is once again with apologies to Clement Moore that I offer you this year’s version of “A Visit from St. Nicholas” for modern times.

‘TWAS THE FIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

By Clement Clarke Moore

‘Twas the fight before Christmas, when all through the House,

Polarized politicians continued to grouse
About what the impeachment had laid out so bare,
Causing the Trumpsters to stomp and to swear.

They swore that the witnesses were all blockheads
And continued to rip the Constitution to shreds.
While accusing the Democrats of illegal wiretaps
As the reason for the Donald’s forthcoming collapse.

When out in the hallway there arose such a clatter,
As McConnell talked – a verified madhatter –
Away to Fox News I flew like a flash,
And listened to Hannity which made my teeth gnash.

I turned to Rachel to escape that Fox psycho;
She gave me the news, researched and so thorough.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Adam Schiff with many reasons to cheer.

Sondlund’s call to Trump on a cellphone, so wacko,
Gave Chairman Schiff even more ammo.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Jordan and Nunes whose job was to besmear

The Ukrainian ambassador, so lively and quick.
She made quick mincemeat of their partisan shtick
More rapid than Google, her answers they came,
And she gave us the truth about who to blame.

“Now, NUNES! now, JORDAN! now, PURDUE and COLLINS!
On, WICKER! on GRASSLEY! on, McCARTHY and GRAHAM!
To the top of your voice, go angry Neanderthal!
Now shout away! shout away! shout away all!

As sly thieves that before wild accusations fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, just deny and deny.
So up to the White House, the sycophants flew,
With a sleigh full of ploys and lies they all knew.

And then, in a twinkling, I found even more proof
That the political prancing was much more than a spoof.
As I drew in my breath, and was turning around,
Out of Airforce 1 came the emperor uncrowned.

Addressing reporters, I knew something was afoot,
For around impeachment he did pussyfoot;
A bundle of ploys he kept flinging right back
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His followers threw roses, legions of the unwary!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
When asked about Giuliani he said “I don’t know.”

His frustration you could see he held tight in his teeth,
And the smokescreen encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a round little belly,
That shook when he lied so obviously smelly.

He was chubby and plump, his narcissistic self,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself:
A twitch in his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had a whole lot to dread;

What he said was absurd, it continues to irk,
That  Zelenskiy’s phone call was just perfect work.
And wagging his finger aside of his nose,
He ranted to his base, who he loves to bulldoze.

He sprang to his limo, to his team gave a whistle,
While I tried to find a way to end this epistle.
Be hopeful I say, that 2020 comes out right!

HAPPY CHRISTMAS T ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!