CHRISTMAS EVE AT MAR-A-LAGO

‘Twas the night before Christmas,
Mar-a-Lago aglow,
its rooftops not covered with snow
to the delight of a man shouting HO, HO, HO.
He had soared ‘cross the border in a sled,
Laden with gifts, all dressed in red.
No visa had he, neither a passport,
but he was not on the list Trump would deport.

The ballroom stockings were hung with care
to make certain no imported gifts were there.
Trump greeted his guests with a happy grin,
savoring the day when he will do his enemies in.
The guests were as delighted as could be,
when Trump announced pardons for thee and me,
and programs to drive up the S&P.

The waiters, too, have smiles on their lips,
for soon there would be no taxes on tips.
There were billionaires and millionaires,
and lesser guests who only have airs,
but not the newest billionaire, one Taylor Swift
who stayed away lest Kamala be miffed.

The gilt was a-glitter, the guests a-twitter,
as they gathered to fête a winner.
Donald Jr. was there, surrounded by a mob,
pledging fealty to his father as they begged for a job.
Ivanka and Jared were there,
soon to France they will repair,
where by some odd chance
Jared’s father is ambassador to France.

The Court of St James beckons a man named Stephens
whose $25 million to Trump an old score evens.
He first backed Trump opponents with loads of cash,
but to the nomination finish-line they could not dash.
As penance Stephens now to Trump gives,
and Winfield House will be where he lives.

There was little to cheer for RFK
who scowled at each tray
laden with foods that led the diners astray.
The senate, he says, must confirm him quicker
lest Americans get even sicker.
Ramaswamy was there, pretending to be humble,
hoping for Elon to stumble and tumble,
dreaming dreams of 2029
and JD’s spot in the succession line.

From London came Farage, making a long trek,
lured by Musk’s dangle of a $100 million check,
but no sign of Boris could be seen,
for losers the host is not keen.
Trump had hoped British royals might appear,
but a Paris handshake with William was all there’ll be this year.

There is Elon Musk, MAGA’s newest star,
enjoying his EV tax breaks as he heads for Mars,
but first, thousands of new workers to hire
to help him find thousands of others to fire.
Trump’s Intelligence chief was sitting alone,
reporting all to Putin on her phone.
Melania’s smile lit up the place,
but for poor Nikki Haley there was no space.

The guests raised their glasses, of champagne there was plenty,
as they toasted Trump’s victory in 2020.
The crypto crowd shared the elation,
as they could see a future with no regulation.
And Bezos and Zuck will finance his inauguration,
after which it is on to lead the nation.

Trump was eager to be off to bed
with plans for new tariffs dancing in his head,
and pay for his plans with money he’ll borrow
for a new generation to repay tomorrow,
when he will be spending full time with his putter
immune to complaints they will utter.

The sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care,
a line from the Bard of which he is aware,
will be his after the dinner,
for he is, after all, finally a winner.

With a thankful nod to Clement Clarke Moore