‘Twas The Night Before Trump’s Mess (A Poem)

Matt K. Lewis Senior Contributor
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‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through this town
The chattering classes and masses were down
For hovering over this season’s elation?
Impending doom: Trump’s Inauguration.

The working class folks who were stuck in a slump
Punished the Beltway with President Trump.
Transition forces were out in full swing
Cheering the coming of America’s new king.

Kellyanne Conway was just slowing down
From her victory lap as toast of the town.
Corey Lewandowski postponed the swamp drain
After learning how lobbying firms make it rain.

Steve Bannon was checking his list—once, and then twice—
Those damn #NeverTrumpers would pay a steep price.
Erickson, Goldberg, Will, and the lot
Would all find themselves in a terrible spot.

These folks (and more) made Steve’s naughty list.
(Which isn’t a good thing, since Bannon was pissed.)
To these yuletide invites, they couldn’t say no.
Not a North Pole excursion—a trip to GITMO.

And me? Well, I just sat here at my desk
Wondering how things became such a mess.
This new situation was beyond the pale
As outlined in my book, “Too Dumb To Fail.”

(And if I failed to say it, I’d be remiss:
You can still get the eBook in time for Christmas.)

Alone at the office on this Christmas Eve,
I wondered aloud, “Oh, when can I leave?”
Tucker was shopping for brand new bow ties.
(He says he stopped wearing those things—but he lies.)

And then from outside I heard a loud click.
Conventional wisdom suggested St. Nick!
But this, my dear reader, is 2016
Where shattered assumptions became the routine.

Then what in my Twitter timeline appeared?
Mentions. From Trump. It was worse than I feared.
Suddenly, the office’s fireplace rumbled
And out from the ash the new President tumbled.

He was dressed in a suit and his shoes were ornate
And his hat promised to make America great.
He looked ‘round the office with a dismissive smirk
And asked, “Hey, are you that Matt Lewis jerk?”

“You and the rest of the talking head group
Have treated my campaign supporters like poop.
I’m not quite as bad as you paint me to be.
Go ask your Mom just how much she likes me.

“So I’m making my rounds on this special night
Settling scores and setting you right.
And believe me, I didn’t start this but the media is more unfair to me than to any other candidate or President or possibly person in the history of American politics. It’s very important. Very important. And I could do other things. Just tonight, an old friend came to visit me, a guy I did a lot of business with back in the 80’s, a guy I made very rich. Hugely rich. I thought he was dead years ago, but he showed up at Trump Tower tonight, on Christmas Eve. Came in, no warning, looked like death. Kept muttering something about ‘chains he’d forged in life’ and trying to let me open my house for his three friends. What a deadbeat. Some people can’t handle winning. My people, my supporters, they love winning, but Jake was a loser.”

All of a sudden, from behind Mr. Trump
Out from the chimney came a loud “THUMP!”
The argument waned, the room turned less tense
For there on the hearth was Veep-elect Mike Pence.

He said, “Please excuse our new President
I don’t think his words convey just what he meant.
Most politicians? They primp and they preen,
Obsessed with their image on your TV screen

“The media traffics in rank speculation
While turning deaf ears to flyover nation.
They yell about all the ‘fake news’ in the ether
Then call each Trump voter a silly mouth-breather.

“Those people out there? They know it’s all broken.
They have valid concerns—and those people have spoken.
So don’t be so quick to pooh-pooh and dismiss.
Open your heart. After all, it’s Christmas.”

I slumped in my chair. Mike Pence was right.
The bubble I lived in was ever so tight.
Maybe I had been too quick and hasty
To dismiss the pro-Trump vote as stupid and pasty.

I looked over at Trump, and saw that now.
His head hung low, in what looked like a bow.
Perhaps I’d been wrong ‘bout our new President
Whose demeanor was sober, and—daresay—reverent?

Suddenly, Trump’s head jerked to attention
Turned out, he’d been answering some Twitter mention.
“Sorry,” he said. “You say something Mike?
Bannon just sent out something I like.
It was hilarious. So funny. It was a picture of Santa Claus and the caption said, ‘Nice Lives Matter.’ Get it? Hilarious. It’s gonna drive the BLM folks and the media crazy, I had to retweet it. Rachel Maddow’s head is going to absolutely explode under that boy haircut she’s got.”

Pence rubbed his eyes, then looked up with a smile.
“I think these visits will take quite a while.
We’d better get going along on our way.
This will probably go on until Valentine’s Day.”

Trump nodded. “You’re right Mike, we’ve got lots to do.
What’s next, Weekly Standard or National Review?”
Then they left, with Trump still crowing and grinning.
“Y’know, Mike we’re all gonna get sick of winning.”

Then I heard him yell loud, even out of my sight…
“Merry Christmas to All, and isn’t it great that we can take pride in saying that again? I’m not even President yet and people are already saying Merry Christmas more. There are more lights, it’s great. Really great. In fact, it’s part of what makes America great is being able to wish people a Merry Christmas. And believe me this wouldn’t have happened if Grinchy Hillary had stolen the election…”
Merry Christmas! Note: My friend Jim Eltringham basically wrote this poem. Follow him on Twitter!!

Matt K. Lewis