From The Barbed Wire.
WASHINGTON – First Lady Michelle Obama is feeling hopeless these days. Unless her husband is the president, Michelle believes there is no hope for America. She was proud of this once great nation while it footed the bill for her world travels. But now that her home girl Hillary has been sent packing, suddenly, this is what not having hope feels like (in her oh-so-humble opinion). Michelle recently shared her depressive state with a group of schoolchildren, when she read her very own version of the beloved Christmas poem, ‘Twas No Hope Before Christmas:
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when in the White House,
Not a creature was spinning, not even Josh Earnest’s mouth;
The pantsuits were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Hillary soon would live there;
Democrats were nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of socialism danced in their heads,
And Barack in his mom jeans, and I with arms firm,
Had just settled down for my husband’s 3rd term;
When across the country there rose such a clatter,
I assumed it involved that Black Lives Matter;
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Kicked out the shutters, threw out Barry’s stash;
The moon illuminated our eight years of woe,
And exposed hope-and-change lies to our subject’s below;
When, what to my vacationing eyes should appear,
But the host of The Apprentice, looking quite cavalier;
I had seen that comb-over, he was tall and was plump,
I knew in a moment, it must be St. Trump;
More rapid than welfare checks, his people they came,
And he hired them, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now Reince, now Ivanka! Now Pencer and Bannon!
On, Mattis, on Sessions! On Kellyanne and Kanye!”
“To the Mexican border! Let’s go build that wall!
Now get to work, get to work, get to work, all!”
As empty promises my husband made that never would fly,
I knew that Obamacare would soon have to die;
The electoral college had spoken, we’d been given the bump,
The free ride was over, thanks a lot, Mr. Trump;
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
My husband’s legacy, gone in a poof!
As I filled with dread, turned my hopeless self around,
Down the chimney St. Trump came with a bound;
He was dressed in a suit, from his head to his feet,
I was expecting a racist, but he was wearing no sheet;
A bunch of red caps he had in a sack,
They said “Make America Great Again,” I felt under attack!
His eyes – how they chilled me, his demeanor how scary,
His skin was so orange, his gaze made we wary;
He was going to erase the last eight years, I swear!
And the ones who elected him were as white as Pence hair;
My school lunch program would be a thing of the past,
Like the food I made them eat, it would end up in the trash;
He would cancel regulations my husband held dear,
I could feel myself being overcome with fear;
We’d worked so hard to bring America down,
Our hope and change would be killed by this clown;
He represented all the hate for the right that I felt,
And I peed my pants when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye, and a look that said, “You’re effed”
Put me on notice, we had just one month left
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his fracking,
Then he turned to me and said, “Shouldn’t you be packing?”
And laying his finger aside of his nose
Giving me a ‘go to hell’ look, up the chimney he rose;
He sprung to his limo, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a Hillary-seeking missile;
Then I said to Barack, as I climbed back in bed,
“Hopeless Christmas to all, and to all…….whatever.”
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