T'was the night before Trumpmas when in the White House an old man was packing and so was his spouse. The pudding boxed up amid dull vacant stares knowing Mr. Trump soon would be there. The children were pardoned and smoking in bed while visions of crack hoes danced in their heads. Jill in her red dress and in his jammies, the border all filled with fighting-aged Pakistanis. When on the south lawn there arose such a clatter, Joe wobbled from bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window, Joe stumbled and bumbled, tore open the shutters to see what he fumbled. With rare clarity now he saw on the snow a crowd of people had gathered below. What next, Joe wondered, would come of this saga but millions of people and a red truck that said MAGA. The jolly driver emerged with a wink and a jump and Joe knew right away that it had to be Trump. More rapid than COVID mandates they came, the jolly man whistled and called them by name. Now J.D., now Susie, now Marco and Bobby, on Pete, on Tulsi, on Bergam and Bondi. To the West Wing, to the Oval, to old exec, he shouted, America's strength must never be doubted. He wore a red tie and a custom-made suit, and as Jill peered out, she thought he looked cute. With a point of his finger and a nod of his head, even old Joe knew there was nothing to dread. Trump delivered a long stream of consciousness speech, Capitol Hill Dems rushed to impeach. Trump sprang to action. It all looked so fun. Much damage to our country would soon be undone. The Bidens walked toward their closets

to pack. Mary Trump-mas everybody. America is back.