Twas the Night Before Indictments

Twas the night before Christmas, and all 'cross 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 ICE-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 searchlights to chaos below; When out on

the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my MyPillow to