a site by jeremy

you know, that one guy

'Twas The Night Before the Election

‘Twas the night before the election and all through the House, only Paul Ryan was stirring, like a sad listless mouse;

His chamber’s majority he knew he would hold, but the Senate was dicey and he felt very cold;

The voters were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of ballots danced in their heads;

And Donald in Michigan and Clinton in Philly, they made one last pitch, the air - it was chilly;

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, Ryan sprang from his chair to see what was the matter;

Away to the window he flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash;

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Psyche! Just kidding. Climate change, yo;

When what to his wondering eyes did appear, But a vision of Lincoln, had he drunk too much beer?

With a tall lanky driver so lively and quick, What was he seeing, this must be a trick;

More rapid than eagles his friends they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now Teddy! Now Ike! Now Reagan! Even, Romney! My goodness, that Trump, what has he done to my party?”

“He courted the racists and planned a big wall, Immigrants and muslims, he said ‘ban them all’“;

“He boasted of assault and claimed it as privilege, In the inner cities he said that blacks would pillage”;

“He fought with the family of a soldier who died, He mocked a reporter, and when confronted he lied”;

“To women he hated, he called them fat pigs, To everyone who crossed him, he got in his digs”;

“His commercials were often anti-semitic, He yelled and he tweeted at all of his critics”;

“He derided a war hero, said he shouldn’t have been caught, he claimed bone spurs, you can bet he never fought”;

As Ryan drew in his head, and was turning around, Down the chimney Abe Lincoln came with a bound;

He was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot, And his top hat was tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of papers he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack;

His eyes—how they glistened! his dimples, not merry! He approached the Speaker, and his path he did parry;

His slim little mouth was drawn down in a cinch, And his beard was dark, befitting a grinch;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a thin face and not much of a belly, In the background a Trump ad played on the telly;

He was tall and commanding, not much like an elf, And Ryan flinched when he saw him, in spite of himself;

A tear in his eye and a bow of his head, Soon gave Ryan to know he had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, He checked Clinton on his ballot; then turned with a jerk,

“How could you Lincoln?” Ryan asked, nearly spit, “How could I not, Donald Trump is not fit!”

In conclusion he said, “What this party sows, so shall it reap”, And as he departed, Lincoln did weep.


© 2011-2018 Jeremy A. Gibbs