T’WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE A MAR A LAGO CHRISTMAS

T'was the night before Christmas, Mar a Lago was quiet,

While Donald sat planning another doomed riot.

His minions were thinning, so many in jail,

As Trump's thoughts of joining them caused him to pale.

Giuliani and Powell, two more of no use,

Would soon earn the wrath of his verbal abuse.

The stockings sat empty, not even worth coal.

No hope for the wicked, not even parole.

Decorations were dripping, all sparkling in red.

Strewn empty Heinz bottles still littered the bed.

With covers pulled tight, he continued to cower.

"If only the Presidency was my power!"

And alas, in his Party he may be hot stuff,

But up against Democrats, wasn't enough.

As each time he'd lost in the popular vote,

A fact that caused Trump a huge lump in his throat.

Jogged out of his dark thoughts, he soon heard a clatter.

And rose to see "now what the hell is the matter?"

Just Melania and Barron, leaving him in a hurry.

The sight of which caused him considerable fury.

No presents this year, just those given himself.

"I can be my own Santa, who needs any damn elf?!"

So back into ketchup bed slowly Trump eased.

With delusions of President, he fell asleep, pleased.

But Justice was coming, for too long denied.

Soon, only a cellmate would be by his side.

And as for our saga, this writer's delight,

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. 

 

~Tamara McLanahan

15/15/23