‘Tis the nightmare before chaos

When rational essays struggle to capture all the madness, what other choice for writers but satiric sadness?

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Note: Since everyone knows “’Twas the Night Before Christmas,” please recall the initial platform as you peruse my satiric rhymes. Admittedly, the content and tone differ. RB

’Tis the night before chaos and all through the House,
Even party hacks want to stifle this rogue louse.
’Tis one enduring nightmare, despite all the pomp—
What fool thinks a buffoon cleans out the swamp?
Here, here! for protesters who defy the swearing in:
Will truncheons add bloodshed to growing chagrin?
Hordes of poor minorities shake in their bed,
The horror of coercive exile rears its head;
Loyal Muslims beset with fake “terrorist” rap—
Where’s that pill for our four-year long nap?

Since Rust Belt Trump voters pulled off their rampage,
The rest of us ponder what the outcomes will presage.
To internet windows we fly like a flash,
Tear open the shutters and peer over the sash.
What then, to our astounded eyes, does appear,
An orangey mask plus that malicious sneer.
Petty tweets pour from his psychic dumpster,
A clear majority now dread President Trumpster.
Equally bad, his dinosaur team fills the frame,
The boss waves his arms, immune to shame:
“Now, Bannon! now, Priebus & you, Wilbur Ross,
Ben Carson and Sessions, Flynn and DeVos:
Enjoin jobless, loser serfs to build my great wall,
Then pulverize opponents who refuse my call!”

Jaws dropping, we hear loud shrieks all around,
Down the chimney the Donald comes with a bound.
The emperor’s buck-naked, from head to his foot,
Thank god, all pee-pee parts are covered with soot;
A bundle of shiny, imitation toys on his back,
This mock Santa heaves a most fraudulent pack.
His eyes – how they glare – befitting a snake,
His face glistens like a neon pound cake;
Phony gifts in place, mumbling an incoherent chant,
The Trumpster leaps on the table and finishes his rant.
Outpours the tiresome, vulgar, coded whistles,
To cover up all the campaign pledges that will fizzle.
And finally, from the roof comes this noxious bray,
“I’ll make America great – if ONLY I get my way.”

FALL FUNDRAISER

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For over a decade, Robert S. Becker's independent, rebel-rousing essays on politics and culture analyze overall trends, history, implications, messaging and frameworks. He has been published widely, aside from Nation of Change and RSN, with extensive credits from OpEdNews (as senior editor), Alternet, Salon, Truthdig, Smirking Chimp, Dandelion Salad, Beyond Chron, and the SF Chronicle. Educated at Rutgers College, N.J. (B.A. English) and U.C. Berkeley (Ph.D. English), Becker left university teaching (Northwestern, then U. Chicago) for business, founding SOTA Industries, a top American high end audio company he ran from '80 to '92. From '92-02, he was an anti-gravel mining activist while doing marketing, business and writing consulting. Since then, he seeks out insight, even wit in the shadows, without ideology or righteousness across the current mayhem of American politics.

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