A Visit from Rudy on the Night Before Christmas (with apologies to Clement C. Moore)
‘twas the night before Christmas, when through the White House, not a Comey was stirring- not even that louse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that a real A.G. soon would be there.
Barron was nestled all snug in his bed, while visions of soccer balls bounced in his head. Melania in her kerchief, and Trump in his cap, had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.
When out from the press corps there rose such a gaggle, Trump sprang from his bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window he flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw open the sash.
The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow, gave a luster of midday to reporters below, when what to his wondering eyes should appear, but Chief Justice Roberts with eight SC justices near, and a little old lawyer so lively and tawny, Trump knew in a moment it must be Rudy Giuliani !
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now, Clarence! Now, Stephen! Now, Ruth-ey and Brett! On, Sammy! Elena! On, Sonya and Neil! To the top of the Court, to the top of Trump’s wall, now, rule away! rule away! rule away, all!”
As fake news before Sarah just will not fly, when she meets with Acosta and he starts to lie, so up to the housetop the justices flew, so full of indictments, and Giuliani, too. And then, in a twinkling, Trump heard in his lobes, the swishing and swashing of justices’ robes. As Trump drew in his head, and was turning around, down the chimney Giuliani came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with NYC soot; a bunch of indictments he’d flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. His droll little mouth was drawn up with a sneer, as the District of Columbia grew nervous with fear.
The briefcase of leather held tight in his hand, and all it contained spread alarm through the land. He had a big smile with a voice mighty proud, his eyes opened wide when he bellowed out loud. He was dapper and prescient- a right jolly old elf, and Trump laughed when he saw him, in spite of himself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave Trump to know he had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and issued indictments to Mueller- that jerk. Laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he 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, as he drove out of sight…
“Orange jumpsuits for homies- both Hillary’s and Comey’s!”
-Drew Nickell, 20 December 2018
© 2018 by Drew Nickell, all rights reserved.
author of “Bending Your Ear- a Collection of Essays on the Issues of Our Times”
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