Poet Luareate Real Reform Fred Smith: Dispirit of the Season

Dispirit of the Season

‘Tis now Christmas day and my heart is wheezing,
Bundled up in my bed, coughing and sneezing.

Santa stayed home on the eve befogged by the flu,
And Rudolph this year couldn’t lead his sled through.

And so my darlings, there’s not much to say
After last night descended and became the next day.

And Eva goes high-speed on with her wild shopping spree,
Buying pols as she needs them to get schools for free;
While Betsy converts the uneducated classes,
Vouching for private ways to teach the masses,
With both of them preaching in the same certain voice
Salvation as it is written in the Gospel of Choice.

As ever-sure Andrew decides on how he should go,
But always taking the time to stick deBlasio.

And the same is true for mayoral control Bill,
A no-contest election behind him with four years to fill.
He must pick a chancellor who wears progressive attire.
But won’t do much to lower class size, lead or inspire.

One thing, however, suspends their personal feud.
Both courageously agree that Trump’s a bad dude.

And the IDC and other deceivers are calling the tune
While the UFT helps the dish run away with the spoon.

Now I must cut this short. I have fever and chills.
Sniffling about so many societal ills.

And so my dear friends, have a pitcher of beer
As we brace ourselves for the same old new year.