‘Twas the night before Christmas

and all through the state

the temperature had fallen

to a muggy seventy-eight.

And at Trump’s Mar-a-Lago,

they were getting a snooze,

except for the president,

hate-watching the news.

The whole family clan

tucked in, one and all.

But Trump couldn’t rest

with an unfunded wall.

So he dialed some numbers

because he was moody,

but not a single one answered,

not even a Rudy.

He needed Mike Pence

with his sycophant smile,

or some crowd in Montana

he could easily rile.

For his foes saw crimes in

his inauguration not frugal.

And Melania was still seething

about his playmate, McDougal.

Mueller’s probe was churning

with collusion quite shocking.

But Trump just kept thinking

“There’s still no gun smocking.”

I’m a hero in real America

in every one-stoplight town.

They know I’m the savior

of the U.S. not brown.

But they mocked his intellect

in the areas quite populous.

And now he felt as trapped

As a common Papadopoulos.

Trump went to the window

and tore open the sash,

then wished once again

he paid Stormy in cash.

The moon in the sky

gave a luster like snow

to the lawn in the back

the undocumented mow.

When what to his wondering

eyes should appear,

but an object that was airborne

and growing quite near.

It was a sleigh with eight reindeer

and a driver quite large.

For a moment, Trump thought,

Chris Christie’s drivin’ that barge.

But it was Santa, Trump saw,

and oh what a sight,

as the sleigh clipped the flagpole

nearly invisible at night.

More rapid than eagles

his coursers they came.

And he whistled, and shouted

and called them by name.

“Now Dasher, now Prancer,

Now Comet and Vixen.

Here lives a president

even worser than Nixon.”

The sleigh landed swiftly,

On the roof with a skid.

And Trump gave a laugh,

yes, that’s what he did.

“Santa, your timing is off.

but I appreciate your fandom.

My chief of staff’s been filled

until my next tantrum.”

Now it was Santa’s turn to laugh

and show his jolly ole’ demeanor.

“This is just a quick stop, Donald.

“I want to avoid a subpoena.”

Then Santa reached into his bag,

and used a flashlight for him to see

“This is so mysterious,” Trump said.

“Like who killed Khashoggi.”

“Ah, here it is!” Santa exclaimed.

“‘The National Climate Assessment’,

your own government’s case

for carbon fuel divestment.

Santa handed Trump the report,

saying, “You better read it.

It’s the consensus of scientists,

and you ought to heed it.”

Trump waved him off.

“I already know what’s what.

I’ve got a big a-brain

But I think with my gut.”

Santa shook his head,

and looked on quite stricken.

“With all due respect, sir,

your gut’s full of fried chicken.”

“Climate change is real,

and rising temps are dealing

concerns much more pressing

than some footballers kneeling.”

Trump covered his ears.

“Your words are a toxin.

Let’s change the subject

to my win in Wisconsin.”

“Hear it you must,”

Old Santa said, shaking.

“The North Pole is melting.

The ice there is breaking.”

“The way things are going,

and I’m not being a faker,

the workshop will drift

halfway to Jamaica”

Trump put up his hand,

“That’s a global calamity.

I just think about America,

the part that likes Hannity.”

“I’ve got my Tucker, my Laura

and my congressman Kevin,

and the evangelists who say

I’ve been sent down from Heaven.”

“America under me

Is getting much greater.

And Santa, you’re another

big socialist hater.

“You got a giant operation

and product diversity.

But fail to make them pay

like Trump University."

“I could sell you my name,

bring your Christmas biz favor.

And we could turn a quick buck

with all your cheap labor.”

“‘Santa Trump’ would be the one

who is coming to town.

And we’ll make a good bundle

‘fore the feds shut us down.

Santa shook his head.

“No thanks for the offer.

Your plan is as flimsy

as a Manafort proffer.”

“I’ve got toys to deliver,

and I do it in stages

to a world full of kids

who aren’t in cages.”

And so up on his sleigh

Santa gave a command.

But before he flew off,

Trump stuck out his hand.

“What about me, Santa?

Where’s my present tonight?

I deserve something great,

for being so bright.”

Santa tossed him an object,

filthy and as black as a hole

“I got you your myth.

“Enjoy your clean coal.”

Then he sprang to his sleigh

to his team gave a whistle,

and away they all flew

like the down of a thistle.

Trump was Tweeting already

‘fore he flew out of sight.

“Just met Lyin’ Santa Claws. A real loser. Hates America. Shoot him down? Shut down Christmas? North Pole tariff needed NOW. Sad!”

fcerabino@pbpost.com

@FranklyFlorida