Twas after the election when throughout the land,
An event of great interest played out ever so grand.
The voters had spoken, and to all our surprise,
They rejected Clinton, and not just chauvinist guys.
A glance at the map showed remarkably red,
Filling all the progressives with dismay and dread.
“How did this happen?” asked the mainstream news.
“With our desire for Hillary demonstrating our views.”
The imaginary glass ceiling remained intact in their mind,
As the results continued to show her behind.
So with tears in their eyes as reality set in,
The unhinged attacks against opposing views would begin.
Tolerance and diversity went out through the sash,
Lovers of America would soon feel the lash.
Saint Nick, for the first time ever, looked forward to view,
The ranting and cackling and the anger on “The View.”
Of course the promises of Whoopie, and many and all
To leave, prompted Canada to start building a wall.
Nick started to wonder, “If they were determined to hike,
Why not to Cuba, Syria, Venezuala, and the like?”
“There’s always North Korea, Iran, Crapistan and such places,
But no, they chose locations without diversity of races.”
The schools gave binkies and coddling for poor student dears,
And counseling was offered to assuage all the fears.
Michael Moore (no relation to the poet of “A Visit from St. Nicholas”),
Regurgitated delusions about the dangers of the right.
Predictable incoherence — his most recognizable feature,
Challenges faith that he’s one of God’s special creatures.
Yes, columnists, celebrities, framers of social thought all,
Spouted whackey predictions, about the country’s fall.
Then in our own community I heard such a clatter,
I picked up The Recorder to see what was the matter.
Off the deep end, a Harris, Gran, Bos and Botkin clarion call,
Rant away, rant away, rant away all.
They told us the republic was beginning to end,
Their spouting asked the readers’ logic and reason to suspend.
Apocalyptic disasters awaited they said,
Climate catastrophes that our species should dread.
With all the seas rising and climatic events anew,
It’s looking like Poets Seat Tower will have an ocean front view.
Fears of Santa up in an iceless North Pole,
They hope it illegal to fill stockings with coal.
Going down chimneys, Santa’s way year after year,
But with all burning to be banned, he has nothing to fear.
Racists, sexists, homo- and Islamaphobes abound,
Voter fraud and conspiracies that have yet to be found.
Condemnation for 60 million who hate all that’s right,
Progressives aligning to begin the good fight.
Well ole Saint Nick, he viewed lists of the hysterical left,
And reckoned his sack so much lighter to heft,
And so, I heard him exclaim as he flew through the air clear,
Ho Ho Ho, plenty of fruitcakes around this election year.
Gary Bourbeau lives in Gill.