The Ridge Who Stole Christmas
Patricia Taylor
Christmas, 2003
* * *
‘Twas the week before Christmas and all through the land,
The ports were all quiet, the guardshacks unmanned.
The children were duct-taped all snug in their beds,
While visions of paratroopers danced in their heads.
And pa in his flightsuit and I in flak vest,
Had just settled down to take a nice rest.
When up on the roof there arose such a clatter,
I jumped from my bed thinking "terrorist chatter."
I looked out my barred window and what did I see,
But good old Tom Ridge looking straight back at me.
He was solid and big with a head like a bull,
He held in his hand a grenade, pin to pull.
"Now just remain calm," he said with a grin,
When he started to smile, his lips got real thin.
"We’ve heard some bad chatter and we want to make sure,
Our homeland’s protected and our women stay pure."
With a wink and a nod and a chuck to my chin,
He swung through my window and let himself in.
With his FBI friends he poked here and sneaked there,
Making sure to take pictures and bottle stray hair.
When he was finished he gave me a frisk,
And a sly little pinch and a twist of my wrist.
Back up to the rooftop he nimbly swaggered,
And I heard him bark out as he quickly re-daggered.
"Now Georgie, now Condie, now Wolfie, now Libby,
On Colin, on Bremer, on Cheney, and Baker.
In the eyes of the world, through the fear of the masses,
Who cares if we’re starting to seem like big asses?
Who cares if their Christmas has become something crummy,
As long as the contracts keep flowing through Rummy?!"
And I heard him proclaim as he drove off his car,
Terror Christmas to all and to all Endless War.
Patricia Taylor
Christmas, 2003
* * *
‘Twas the week before Christmas and all through the land,
The ports were all quiet, the guardshacks unmanned.
The children were duct-taped all snug in their beds,
While visions of paratroopers danced in their heads.
And pa in his flightsuit and I in flak vest,
Had just settled down to take a nice rest.
When up on the roof there arose such a clatter,
I jumped from my bed thinking "terrorist chatter."
I looked out my barred window and what did I see,
But good old Tom Ridge looking straight back at me.
He was solid and big with a head like a bull,
He held in his hand a grenade, pin to pull.
"Now just remain calm," he said with a grin,
When he started to smile, his lips got real thin.
"We’ve heard some bad chatter and we want to make sure,
Our homeland’s protected and our women stay pure."
With a wink and a nod and a chuck to my chin,
He swung through my window and let himself in.
With his FBI friends he poked here and sneaked there,
Making sure to take pictures and bottle stray hair.
When he was finished he gave me a frisk,
And a sly little pinch and a twist of my wrist.
Back up to the rooftop he nimbly swaggered,
And I heard him bark out as he quickly re-daggered.
"Now Georgie, now Condie, now Wolfie, now Libby,
On Colin, on Bremer, on Cheney, and Baker.
In the eyes of the world, through the fear of the masses,
Who cares if we’re starting to seem like big asses?
Who cares if their Christmas has become something crummy,
As long as the contracts keep flowing through Rummy?!"
And I heard him proclaim as he drove off his car,
Terror Christmas to all and to all Endless War.
Comments