’Twas the Night Before Christmas 2023
And in the federal courthouse
Not one of 45’s lawyers were scurrying,
Not even a mouse,
45’s Fulton County Georgia Sheriff Office’s Mug Shot
Was hung in his Mar-a-Lago office with care,
In hopes that the ghost of Attorney Roy Cohn
Would soon appear,
His indicted and unindicted co-conspirators
Were all snug in their beds,
While visions of 45’s promises of presidential pardons,
When he became 47, danced in their heads,
Melania who was happy that most of the boxes were gone,
And 45, clutching a judge’s gag order, had just settled down,
To a Christmas Eve dinner
One with a smile and one with a frown,
When there arose such a clatter,
They sprang from their table to see,
If it was the FBI searching for
A 10-inch binder or boxes
Containing highly secret matter,
When what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But Sean Hannity, Congregational Republicans,
MAGA acolytes, Christian nationalists
White supremacists and others
Coming from far and near,
“What do they want? Why are they here?
They weren’t invited for our Christmas Eve cheer,”
Soon it was apparent why they were holding up their beers,
It was to toast their want-to-be future president-dictator,
Whom they hold so dear,
“Here’s to 45:
Our fearless leader who understands our plight
Our First and Second Amendment champion
Who fights for our rights,
Our savior from the immigrant invasion
And who is so skilled at the art of evasion,”
All of this and more they cried,
As their voices thundered up to the sky
Their and 45’s lies joined together and took flight,
Around the country on this Christmas Eve night,
45’s lawyers were not in the crowd or in bed
As they had to spend this Christmas Eve
Researching and writing court briefs instead,
And each one in unison muttered under their breath,
“If it wasn’t for that Grinch, Jack Smith,
Who stole Christmas from me,
I would be with my family, in front of our Christmas tree,”
On this starry, starry warm Florida night,
When 45 was throwing MAGA hats to the crowd
And pieces of his mug-shot suit sold so fast,
It made him so proud,
Suddenly a cold Northern wind blew,
In an instant the crowd went silent
And began to sulk and stew,
For up in the sky, a hologram appeared,
And it grew larger, as it drew near,
This spectacle featured a man so lively and quick,
The crowd knew in moment, it was Jack Smith,
This fantastical scene, hovering in the sky,
It must be the work of the deep state’s AI,
Smith and his team went straight to their pre-trial preparation deeds,
Completing them at an astonishing speed,
Then Smith’s head gave a jerk,
The apparition, foreshadowing of what was to come,
Vaporized causing the crowd to go berserk,
Smith exclaimed, as he disappeared from sight,
“Merry Christmas to all who know that might does not make right,
And to 45, JUSTICE is coming with all its might.”
Robert W. Kubacki lives in Greenfield.