A Christmas Peril

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when up in Trump Tower

The Pres-Elect watched TV in the wee hours.

The Donald was hung, he’d proclaimed to the land,

We shouldn’t be misled by the size of his hands.

Priebus and Ryan were all snug in their beds,

While visions of disruption danced in their heads.

Kellyanne with her bleached hair, and Bannon with stubble,

Continued to plot how to cause so much trouble.

When out on Fifth Avenue arose such a bleat,

The Donald stopped what he was doing, mid-tweet.

He’d sign on again later to call Baldwin a hater,

But now he descended his gold escalator.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Reminded Sir Trump where his hands should not go.

When what to his wandering eyes did appear

But his Cabinet members, who gave him a cheer.

(But not old Chris Christie, face round and waist thick —

The brain trust decided that he was a dick.)

More rapid than denying the impact of hacking

He whistled, and shouted, thanking them for their backing:

“Now, Zinke! Now, Pruitt! Now, ‘Mad Dog’ and Haley!

You know I’ll embarrass you all almost daily!

And Tillerson! You know you’re controversial,

But I’ll sell them on you like an Exxon commercial.

There Puzder! My labor guy! (How I love your name.)

Hot chicks in bikinis are what brought you fame.

And Pruitt! I don’t give a damn what the tree-huggers say,

Get started dismantling that vile EPA.

There’s Ross! He’s my Commerce guy. He’s almost 80.

(I won’t let him ponder on issues too weighty.)

Ben Carson for HUD! My black friend — that’s you!

Between you and Kanye, I’m now up to two.

Who’s that with head bobbing? Oh, there you are, Mitt!

You thought I’d give you a job? Ha, you dumb sh*t!

There’s more of you out there; don’t yet know all your names,

But soon at your shuffling feet I’ll lay blame.”

Trump was chubby and plump, like an orange so ripe,

And I laughed when I saw him, giving him reason to gripe.

With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had so much to dread.

He spoke many words, ‘cause he knew all the best ones,

And walked back inside, arm in arm with Jeff Sessions.

And brushing his hair back on top of his pate,

He returned to his Twitter account to berate.

But I heard him exclaim, in words no longer puzzlin’ —

Happy Christmas to all, and to hell with the Muslims!


John Branning

About John Branning

Besides what I contribute here, you can also ignore some of my earlier posts by not visiting my website, www.JohnBranning.com, as well as by not purchasing a copy of my books: “Selfie-Facing: Analog Musings in a Digital World,” which made the list of "The Best Self-Published Books of 2016" as seen on the Huffington Post, and my latest, "Keys To The Truculent Me."