’Twas the night before the Holiday, when all through the White House,
Not a liberal was social networking — no one was clicking a mouse.
The Jimmy Choos were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that Newt Gingrinch soon would be there.
The Occupy protesters were nestled all snug in their street beds,
While redistributionist schemes danced in their (air)heads.
And Michelle in her snuggie, and I with my Chicago Bulls cap,
Had just settled down for a climate-change nap.
When out on the South Lawn there arose such a clatter
I sprang from the Lincoln bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the bulletproof window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the surveillance shutters and threw up the recycled sash.
When what to my America-transforming eyes should appear,
But a long SUV and six campaigning right-deer
With a middle-aged driver so historically astute
I knew in a moment it must be St. Newt.
More rapid than donkeys his right-wingers they came,
And he tweeted and texted and called them by name:
“Now, Ron! Now, Michele! Now, Rick S., please hurry!
On, Mitt! On, Jon! C’mon, forgetful Rick Perry!
Now slash away debts and deficits!
Slash away all!”
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The posturing and politicking of each little hoof.
As I grabbed my iPhone and was turning around,
Down the smoke-free chimney St. Newt came with a bound!
He was dressed in Armani from his head to his toe,
And his pockets were all garnished with oodles of dough;
A bundle of consulting fees he’d flung on his back,
And he looked like a lobbyist for ol’ Freddie Mac.
His eyes — how they twinkled; his hair — how white!
My “Newt for Prez” poster turned his expression so bright.
He had a broad face and a portly round tummy
That shook when he laughed at my photo of Biden, the dummy.
He was chubby and professorial, while flip-flopping his stance
And I smiled when I thought of him sitting with Nance.
With a wink of an eye and a fork of his tongue
I knew by that look activist judges were done.
He spoke many words as he went straight to his works,
And laying aside his principles, he dreamed of the perks,
The ex-speaker, he’s known as an individual-mandater,
And with a thumbs up, ascended in the electric elevator.
He sprang to his SUV, to his team gave a whistle
And away they all flew, like a Tomahawk missile.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight:
“AMNISTIA A TODOS, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT.”
Izzy Lyman is the author of The Homeschooling Revolution.