‘Twas the week before inauguration and all through the city 

Porta potties were in place, in case things got shitty.

The streets were all lined with barricades and bleachers

In anticipation of crowds and sign carrying preachers. 

Inaugural gowns filled the ritziest store,

Bright red is the color attendees adore.

When in front of Old Abe there arose such a clatter

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.  

The seating appeared to be quietly weeping 

As worries and fear inside me were creeping. 

Wiping my eyes and turning around 

I glimpsed the Trump Tower and started to frown.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a small group of children so tiny and dear.

Their eyes, how they twinkled!  Their footsteps were merry.

(One had the diminutive air of a fairy.)

Small tiny steps and one happy turn of a head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. 

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.