‘Twas Three Nights Before Christmas

 

‘Twas three nights before Christmas, with time running out;

And the Congress was deadlocked, resolution in doubt.

The plane rides were ordered, the Christmas break called.

The Senate was screaming that they were appalled.

 

The people were jumping right out of there skins,

While visions of income cuts entered their noggins.

Mom sits in her jammies and Dad in his Snuggie

Crunching the numbers and going quite buggy,

 

When out in the great room there arose such a ruckus

That Dad said “Don’t tell me they’ve come HERE to f**k us!

Away to the closet he crept on his toes

Pulled down his rifle and with it some clothes.

 

The blaze in the fireplace was casting a glow

On the ceiling and walls, on the presents, their bows.

When, who to Dad’s shock and dismay did appear

But John Boehner himself, through the window -- with beer.

 

With the nose on his kisser so red and so lit

Dad knew in a moment that ol’ John was blitzed.

More swiftly than magpies his cronies did follow

To repeat his mantras and remind him to swallow.

 

“Where’s Santa?” asked Dad, where’s Prancer and Vixen?

Where’s Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen?”

Why are you here, and who are these clowns?

Why aren’t you working to bring them around?”

 

And then, in a sudden, Dad heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As Dad lowered the rifle, his mouth all agape

Santa entered the room through the fire escape.

 

He was dressed for the evening in his usual duds,

And he looked like he and Boehner had been sharing the suds.

The humungous bag he had flung on his back

Was as empty as the souls of the Tea Party quacks.

 

His ire – how it bristled! his temper how nasty!

His cheeks were on fire, his nose wanted rhinoplasty!

His droll little mouth was drawn taut like a bow,

And he spoke in a voice that was scary and low.

 

“Boehner,” he rumbled, “you fools are quite done.

You’ve lost control of your people. Dad, give me that gun!

Your minions are crazy and don’t care a whit

About children and elderly; you are all full of sh*t!”

 

“Now give me that bottle, you drunk knucklehead!

And get your ass back to D.C., not to bed.

The children are waiting for me to show up

And you need to agree to free that cash up!”

 

Dad nodded profusely, while Santa just glowered.

John Boehner pulled up and looked less like a coward.

He turned to his cronies and called for a huddle,

Their hearts started melting; beneath them a puddle.

 

They sprang through the window, Nick leading the way

And away they all flew to catch a ride on the sleigh

They got back to Washington and called for a vote

They strong-armed their holdouts; an agreement they wrote.

 

Santa backed from the room and walked back to his sleigh

The reindeer were ready to be on their way

And John Boehner heard, as they drove out of sight,

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

 

Note from L:  I was crafting this poem when the bulletin from the Washington Times hit my email saying the House had reached an agreement to go ahead and approve the two-month extension of the payroll tax cut and the unemployment payments recommended by the Senate.  I would like to think of it as a Christmas miracle, but we all know it had more to do with political pressure and the looming elections. Whatever the reason, there will be a little more breathing room for parents who are scrambling to make sure Christmas happens for their kids.  Alleluia!