’Twas a dreary night in Washington,
The snow had begun to fall,
Secretaries and congressmen
Deserted hallowed halls.
The lobbyists and staffers,
The special-interest groups,
Had taken off for Georgetown
To have some snoots and toots.
Writers filed their last reports,
Oilmen hung up their hats,
And generals prayed for happy days
When Pentagon budgets are fat.
Yet while the city slumbered,
We now must shift our gaze
To Pennsylvania Avenue,
Where the President stays.
Into the Oval Office,
Where policy is concealed,
We come across a vista
Which now must be revealed.
For there is Kash and Kristi,
With bottles in their hands,
On the chair is Peter,
On the floor is Pam.
All are loudly snoring,
Long ago passed out,
Burdened with the cares and worries
Of their livers giving out.
Stacked about are books and maps,
Glossy photographs in piles,
All are marked: “TOP SECRET —
FOR YOUR EYES ONLY — EPSTEIN FILES!”
Yet from this most iniquitous den,
There’s still one yet absent,
The one who’s the boss and runs the show —
Trump, the President.
But hark! What do we now perceive
Behind an arch of stale Big Macs?
A golden wave — an orange glow —
There is Trump in his MAGA hat!
He had been deeply thinking
Of that land across the sea,
Of that dirty, lying, stinking
Ayatollah Khamenei.
’Twas much too long without solution,
Still captive the Mideast lay,
Pawns of a Mullahvolution
Or a stack of political hay.
Donald pondered, lost in gloom,
Unsure of what to do,
Elections coming up so soon,
He missed his friend, ’Yahu.
When all of a sudden there came a great flash,
Thunder roared from darkened skies,
Lightning cracked just like a lash,
Clouds swirled before Donald’s eyes.
Before him stood the Ayatollah,
Of grim visage, fierce and mean,
Like a Muslim Stormy Daniels
Who could have been part of the team?
Khamenei scowled, and Donald shuddered,
Hatred burning, dread to see;
The specter raised a ghastly finger
And conjured Gaza’s misery.
All seemed despair, and Donald wondered
If his November goose was cooked,
Then once again the skies did thunder,
So Donald took another look.
The room grew bright, the clouds did thicken,
Donald huddled back in fear,
But when he muttered, “Mar-a-Lago?”
Another phantom did appear.
’Twas his pal, Jeffrey Epstein,
Just like he saw him on the plane,
Jetting off to his private island
To party and to play his games.
Thronged by a flock of giggly virgins,
And tooting from the bag of Hunter’s blow,
Jeffrey strode up to the Mullah:
“Hop on the plane — let’s go!
“Just relax, give me your hand,
I’m the genie at your command,
On a carpet to Lolita Land!
Let’s grab a babe and have a schmooze —
Now what’s this place called? Hormuz?”
Donald watched in sheer amazement
As a line of people filled the plane.
Some were friends, others strangers;
Donald wondered, “Am I insane?”
“There is Vlad with Zelensky,
OMG! It’s Chuck and Nancy!
And over there, if looks could kill,
Is that Melania, Hill and Bill?
“And snuggling up to Bob De Niro,
Could that be Judge Jeanine Pirro?
This is huge! This is dope!
There’s JD with the Pope!
“It’s fantastic! Can this be real?
Cause if it is, I’ve made The Deal!
The election’s solved, there’s no rejection,
Just give the people some deflection.
“When there’s scandal and perversion,
All it takes is a good diversion,
And just for fun, let’s make it Persian!”
While they loaded up with bombs,
A crackling came upon the intercom:
“This is your pilot, ex-Prince Andrew.
On behalf of my jolly crew,
I would like to welcome you.
“So just sit back and tell some jokes,
While Fergie passes out the Cokes.”
The skies explode above the land,
Old Glory waves in a sea of sand,
As Donald took his special seat,
He remembered — it’s time to tweet!
“The election’s a lock, Iran’s the key,
And praise Allah for Khamenei!”
Kevin Glynn
San Marcos
