‘Tis the night before Christmas
and all through the House,
where the reps were so hopeful,
the Senate’s a louse.
T***p kills funds to feed families
as long food lines grow.
Our incomes are shriveling
while his own funds flow.
The White House is lit
with bright colors galore
while suffering lingers
among the Black, Brown, and poor.
Small businesses are dying
while T***p continues to tweet
months after numbers
clearly show his defeat.
Not one single tweet
about the sick and the dead
Medics, now heroes.
Hospitals now out of beds.
He pardons the thugs,
the rich white and male,
because white lives matter
while Blacks linger in jail.
He’s neglected the needs
he was sworn to protect.
In the end those he cared about
were extremely select.
So Merry Christmas to all,
And to all a good night.
May next year be better
with T***p out of sight!
Shelly Blankman lives in Columbia, Maryland. She is author of Pumpkinhead, a collection of her poetry, printed for her as a surprise by her two sons, Richard and Joshua, currently quarantined in New York and Texas, respectively. Shelly's poetry has been published in a number of journals, including First Literary Review, The Ekphrastic Review, Halfway Down the Stairs, and Verse-Virtual.
