The Night Before Christmas, December 2024
A Letter From Iowan Phil Kreznor
Letters From Iowans is a part of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative. We encourage you, our subscribers, to share your perspective in this column. To make your voice heard, use this form to send us your essay:
(With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore.)
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when through the White House,
Not a person was joyful, even Jill, my spouse;
My notecards were tucked in my desk-drawer with care,
But in less than a month, they’d no longer be there;
The grandkids came down to spend time with their “Pop”;
But Hunter was asked not to bring his laptop;
As we gathered around, I was feeling quite spent,
Still in sheer disbelief of how bad the year went,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I got up like a sloth to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I shuffled just fine,
With care for my age, and my arthritic spine.
The moon lit the scene that included no snow,
But coming up fast there appeared an orange glow,
When what to my squinting-old eyes seemed bad luck,
’Twas a sign on the side of a white, garbage truck,
With a rambling driver appearing quite plump,
I knew in a moment it had to be Trump.
More rapid than eagles he started his rant,
The bombast was there, but coherence was scant:
”Now, Michigan! Wisconsin! Nevada! Now, Georgia!
Pennsylvania! North Carolina! And now, Arizona!
From the South, to the Sun Belt, and to the Blue Wall!
There were seven swing states, and I won them all!”
As leaves that before the two hurricanes fly,
Just like Musk on the stage, they jump to the sky;
So up to the White House, Trump hopped to,
With the glee that he had at McDonald’s drive-thru,
And then, with conviction, Trump came with a pounce,
A free-wheeling felon on thirty-four counts,
As I readied myself to debate on the spot,
I just mumbled, and stumbled, with no train of thought,
Trump came dressed rather odd, and his pants looked the best,
For a jacket he sported a construction vest,
He wore a red tie, with his white, buttoned shirt,
And his ear was unbandaged, and no longer hurt.
His speeches, so fiery! His insults, so quick!
And he raved of the size of a famed-golfer's ****!
Trump tried to convince me that he was a smarty,
And offered to encore his town-hall-dance-party,
Worth billions on paper, his business deals shady,
And a hate for T. Swift, just a childless cat lady,
His record on female abuse was quite fraught,
But he’d protect women; like it or not,
On sharks and on batteries, he was quite zany,
And he spoke about pointing nine barrels at Cheney,
With the sway of his hips, and the pump of his arms,
Sure gave me the feeling of dreadful alarm,
I had flubbed the debate, looking just like a ghost,
Both Pelosi and Clooney told me I was toast,
So I had to drop out, ‘twas the right thing to do,
But then the VP sunk her chance on “The View,”
Trump turned now to leave, with his spirits their brashest,
Was John Kelly right to say Trump was a fascist?
But I heard Trump exclaim his lie without regrets:
”They’re eating the dogs; they’re eating the pets!”
Phil Kreznor
Des Moines, Iowa
Thank you! This is the best!