Twas the Week Before Christmas

 

Jon Reisman

With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore and any non-cynics left

'Twas the week before Christmas, and all through the House

The lame ducks were plotting, preparing to pounce;

The earmarks were hung on the omnibus with care,

In hopes that Pelosi and Shumer would share;

Angus and Susan nestled snug on the Floor,

With visions of earmarks hung on the door;

And Chellie in her Pingree, and Jared in his flannel,

Had just settled down for a lobster regs panel.

Out of the Senate there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my laptop to see what was the matter.

By opaque amendment Angus had sent,

National Heritage dollars and mischief by unanimous consent.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below, 

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, 

Zelensky! was shopping without any fear.

Asking for missiles, so lively and quick,

Guaranteed to make Putin sick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

Murkowski! McConnell! Tillis! and Manchin! 

Collins! Cornyn! Capito! all Dancing!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!

As lame ducks leave before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of earmarks, and inflationary too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,

Down the chimney came 1.7 Trillion with a bound.

It was dressed all in fur, from its head to its foot,

And its pronouns were tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of earmarks flung on its back,

And it looked like a peddler just opening its pack.

The earmarks all twinkled! So simple, so merry!

Its cheeks were like roses, its nose like a cherry!

Its droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of its chin was as white as the snow;

It held Hunter’s crack pipe tight in its teeth,

And the smoke it encircled its head like a wreath;

It opened the border to fentanyl, migrants and crime

And proclaimed the Kamala didn’t have the time.

It was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw it, in spite of myself;

Fauci mandated closures and masks,

And subsidized Wuhan gain of function tasks.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, the omnibus rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

The Border is closed, and to all a good night!

Jon Reisman is an economist and policy analyst who retired from the University of Maine at Machias after 38 years. He resides on Cathance Lake in Cooper, where he is a Selectman and a Statler and Waldorf intern. Mr. Reisman’s views are his own and he welcomes comments as letters to the editor here, or to him directly via email at [email protected].

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