A Trumpian Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas and all across the nation, not a visa

was stirring, not even probation. The stockings hung limp like our crops on the

vine since the pickers were jailed at the freedom fence line.

The children were nestled in our sponsored pens. Dreaming of Barbies who loved only

Kens. And mama in her robe from Ivanka's boutique had just hit

the Xanax for one silent week. The moon on the of the new fallen snow

gave the luster of search lights to chaos below. When out on the lawn there

arose such a clatter, I sprang from by my pillow to tweet,