After the Fight Was Over...
by Julia Sneden
T'was the night before Christmas, and through the great mansion
The VP and family prepared for disbandtion.
The barrels and boxes were piled by the stair
For Cheney & Company soon would be there.
The children, well hardened by all the campaigning
Worked staunchly and grimly without even deigning
To notice their father, who stood all alone
Recounting his fingers, now worn to the bone.
Seminole, Miami-Dade and Palm Beach
Remained where they stood, which was just beyond reach.
He was loath to fold up his fingers and stop it
Although the Supreme Court had already cried "DROP IT!"
And meanwhile in Texas, the George Bushes, Senior
Were stuffing the stockings with cheerful demeanior.
The Governor of Texas lay snug in his bed
While visions of Florida danced in his head.
Who'd have thought a young brother, no matter how pleasant
Would some day deliver him so great a present?
Now the trick was to look, like his dad, Presidential
(His father, of course, his life's great exponential).
This caused Junior such worry, he sprang from his bed
And looked in his mirror with something like dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
Of controlling his eyebrows, restraining his smirk
Mr. Gore, in the meantime, had finished his count
Never satisfied with the remaining amount.
He tried to re-figure the horrible sum
By the process of slowly recounting his thumb.
When Tipper appeared, ever brave and supportive
He finally abandoned his efforts abortive.
"No more of this 'try to win one for the Gipper'"
Stop, Kristin! Stop, Albert, Karenna and Tipper!
Give it up, dear friend Lieberman! Kara! Hadassah!
We've reached an impossible, thorough impassah."
And laying his finger, well, not by his nose,
He sauntered off camera, a well-thought out pose.
But I heard him exclaim ere he stepped out of sight
"By two thousand and four, I'll have got this thing right!"