Fred Smith is a testing expert who exposes the fallacies of the testing biz.

He is also an amateur poet.

The Day After Christmas

It’s the day after Christmas; I’m sitting here stumped.
How could it happen that all the joy had been trumped?
Even Santa, dear Santa, had taken to bed,
And a platinum imposter had stolen his sled.
It was too late to stay him, this darkest year’s Eve
With a sack full of coal, wearing hate on his sleeve.
He grabbed at the reins on his miserable journey.
In the lead stood Rudolph the red-faced attorney,
Who was followed up close by his stable of does.
It gave us new meaning as he roared Ho, Ho, Hos.
“On Ivana and Marla—never feel bitter.
And don’t dare look back as I play with my twitter.
On Melania and Stormy, keep pulling my sleigh;
Onward Huckabee too, and on Kelly Conway.
And so now let me check to see who’s on my list
Who deserve prizes and who got me really pissed:
There’s nothing I have for folks in states that are blue;
And Puerto Rico gets less for all it’s been through;
Must take care of the red states, for that is my base;
And those bearing arms to protect our supreme race;
(And while it enters my mind during this flight,
I want a new flag that’s one hundred percent White.)
There’s goodies for Bibi, and the Saudi crown prince,
With much love for Kanye, who makes Obama wince;
And hail the electors who ensured my first term;
And anyone out there who made Hillary squirm;
Poison apples to prune-faced Nancy and Schumer;
I wish them each an inoperable tumor.
That goes double for Rachel and for O’Donnell;
But, for now, complete praises for Mitch McConnell.
For Kate McKinnon and the cast of S-N-L,
Here’s a one-way ticket—You can go straight to hell;
And I must heap scorn on all my hand-chosen elves
Whom I ousted for thinking of only themselves.
For every deserter, a replacement was found
As my cabinet door kept on spinning around.
Of course, I have nothing for immigrant children
Who have infested our land by several million;
Or all diseased terrorists and Muslim invaders;
I’ll squash them to save us from such infiltrators.
The question’s not will I, but rather when shall I
Turn against anyone who thinks I’m his ally.
Bless Betsy beside me, busy fixing each school;
Vouchers, charters and God’s mission supply her fuel.
While the stock markets crash, you know that I’m grinning.
Got plenty of hotels and cash—It’s called winning!
The wine soon wore off. The ride didn’t happen at all.
Should’ve known when his first stop was to visit The Wall
Would have thwarted and put a swift end to his game,
As he screamed and raged looking for someone to blame.
Noёl, no Wall, he became hair-trigger irate;
How can I go on to make America great?
Wound up with a Whopper home alone on silk sheets,
While he spouted off outbursts of unseemly tweets.
Still I’m shaken; I hope this was just a bad dream,
A scary clown Santa, a Bozo in the extreme.
~Fred Smith