‘Twas the week before inauguration and all through the city
Porta potties were in place, in case things got shitty.
In anticipation of crowds and sign carrying preachers.
Bright red is the color attendees adore.
I quickened my pace to see what was the matter.
The memorial front was flooded with workers
And the sounds that they made was like hordes of berserkers.
As worries and fear inside me were creeping.
I glimpsed the Trump Tower and started to frown.
But a small group of children so tiny and dear.
(One had the diminutive air of a fairy.)
Small tiny steps and one happy turn of a head
I spoke not word, but resolved to do right.
As for you, D.C. Please fight the good fight.
Acknowledgement to Clement Clarke Moore and his poem A Visit from St. Nicholas, otherwise known as the beloved The Night Before Christmas. I hope my version proves entertaining to you readers.