’Twas the week of the hearings and all through the House,
the witnesses swore that the truth they’d espouse.
They’d answer the question on everyone’s mind:
Is the GOP Congress entirely blind?
The cameras whirred as they raised their right hand,
in hopes Adam Schiff would sustain his command.
From Taylor to Kent and Yovanovitch first,
could it be that the president’s tenure was cursed?
Would the evidence show there’s a clear quid pro quo?
After all, on the phone call, Trump used the word “though.”
But Nunes and Jordan and Ratcliffe denied it,
and Hurd and Stefanik just couldn’t keep quiet.
They talked of the Bidens and Crowdstrike and Steele;
to the man in the White House they tried to appeal.
When Vindman and Williams reported their views,
what distortions would Hannity pitch on Fox News?
By the time David Hale and his pal Laura Cooper
appeared on the stand, we were all in a stupor.
We needed to rest, and then on with the show —
Yes, Ambassador Sondland was ready to go.
Would he spill all the details? Or maybe he’d plead
to avoid a perjurious conflict, indeed.
Of Ukraine and Zelensky and rap’s A$AP Rocky,
he spoke with a sneer that Maloney thought cocky.
But one thing was sure at the end of the day:
Everyone in the loop could eventually pay.
Now Bolton, now Perry, Mulvaney, and Pence;
Giuliani, Pompeo, there’s no more pretense.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter —
The putative president said, “What’s the matter?
There’s no quid pro quo, I WANT NOTHING,” he cried.
Were his scribbled-down prompts a new sign that he lied?
When finally Fiona Hill came to call,
along with the “eavesdropper” Holmes, they told all:
Of democracy screwed by political errands;
the cheating, misleading, and hundreds more gerunds.
So what is to come in this time of transition?
Will liberty cede its now-fragile position?
Let the piles of evidence quickly amass,
so Trump learns that no one at all loves his ass.
For Putin, he’s played out his game without fail.
Let truth and American morals prevail.
Let the Senate’s conclusions send Trump on his way.
Let the SDNY then require him to pay.
Let him slouch to his copter, no wave or salute.
Away he will fly when they give him the boot.
If we hear him exclaim, “I don’t understand why!”
We can say, “Merry Christmas to you, and goodbye.”
With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore.
Photo by Jacob Morch