sound-bites were hung on the mantel with care,
A Work By Hugh Trutton
'Twas the night before Christmas and at the Trump Tower
the Donald was up at a very late hour.
The sound-bites were hung on the mantel with care,
Just in hopes a Fox News crew might soon be there.
And then on Park Avenue there arose a commotion.
"It's the Mexican peasants!" Don cried with emotion.
For fear, lies and hate plus racial selection,
Was how Donald Trump planned to win his election.
His eyes narrowed cruelly, his lips pouted out;
"I'll put those illegals right into a rout."
In a cold sweat he rushed to his phones;
To call Adelson, Koch and the rest of the clones.
He whistled and shouted and summoned them all
"Now Carson, now Rubio, now Bush, Cruz and Paul;
and even Fiorina, although she's a pain;
These scurrilous migrants have damaged my fame!"
But alas for the Donald, no Poncho or Jose,
Just a gentleman jolly with cheeks much like Rose.
"No present for you Don; you're richer than Croesus,
But that does us no good when renewing our leases.
And your stupid idea of building a wall,
To keep aliens out (come on, thirty feet tall?),
can only confirm an incompetent mind,
that I find much too often in those of your kind.
In policy matters you haven't a clue;
Even Huckabee would be better than you!
So no present for you, Don, and no White House prize,
For climate denial is really not wise.
Santa sprang to his sleigh, told his team to get going,
And away they all flew like Donald's new Boeing.
But I heard Santa say, with a wave of his hat,
"Merry Christmas to all---and vote Democrat!"