T'was the night before Trumpmas, when in the White House, an old man was packing, and so was his

spouse. The pudding boxed up amid dull, vacant stairs, knowing Mr. Trump soon would be there.

The children were pardoned and smoking in bed, while visions of crack hose danced in their heads. Jill in her red

dress and Joe in his jammies, the border all filled with fighting age Pakistanis. When on the

South lawn there arose such a clatter. Joe wobbled from bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window,

Joe stumbled and bumbled, tore open the shutters to see what he fumbled. With rare clarity now,

he saw on the snow a crowd of people had gathered below. What next Joe wondered would come of this saga but millions of people and a red truck that

said Maga.

The jolly driver emerged with a wink and a jump, and Joe knew right away that it had to be

Trump.

More rapid than COVID mandates they came, the jolly man whistled and called them

by name. Now Jady, now Susie, now Marco and Bobby, on Pete, on Tulsi, on Bergam and Bondi.

To the West Wing, to the Oval, to old exec, he shouted, America's strength must never be

doubted.

He wore a red tie in a custom-made suit, and as Jill peered out, she thought he looked cute.

With a point of his finger and a nod of his head, even old Joe knew there was nothing to dread.

Trump delivered a long stream of consciousness speech, and Capitol Hill Dems rushed to impeach.

Trump sprang to action.

It all looked so fun.

Much damage to our country would soon be undone.

The Bidens walked toward their closets to pack.

Mary Trump miss everybody, America is back.

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