[The following is satire directed at U.S. congressional spending -ed.]

’Twas the night before spending, and all through the House,

No one’s courage was stirring,

Every man a louse.

The purses were hung by the chimneys with care

In hopes that St. Porkulus soon would be there.

Each member was nestled, all snug in their beds

While delusions of grandeur danced in their heads.

Pelosi in kerchief, and Jeffries in cap

Were anticipating a post-spending nap.

Then out on the ’Net there arose such a twitter,

They sprang to their phones to see comments so bitter.

Away to the pundits they flew like a flash

To shape the news cycle, and argue for cash.

Smooth talk on the crest of a media wave

Gave a luster of kindness to taxes they craved.

When what should their wondering eyes come to see,

But a gigantic bill, too lengthy to read,

With new regulations so unnecessary 

Driving up costs for each Tom, Dick, and Harry.

More rapid than income, the earmarks they came

And they whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

Now highways, now airports! Now railroads and bridges!

Spend trillions, get stupid! Let’s hide behind fixes!

From the heights of the north

To the palm trees so tall

Now spend away, spend away, spend away all!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, 
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up through the ceiling, the debt dollars flew

And the House they all cheered—and St. Porkulus too.

And then in a twinkle, I heard at the Fed

The gasp of an economy going dead.

As I cradled my head in my tired old hands,

Through the west doors St. Porkulus came with a bam!

He was dressed all in furs, from his head to his foot

And his clothes were all garnished with ill-gotten loot. 

A bundle of cash he had flung on his back

And he looked like a peddler—but nothing he lacked. 

His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!

Yet his lack of awareness was truly quite scary.

His wry little mouth was drawn up in a grin,
As he straightened the tie underneath his wide chin.
A pipe that burned dollars he held in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a corpulent tummy,
That shook when he laughed, though I found nothing funny.
He was chubby and plump, that huge fattened old imp,
And I cried when I saw him, my shoulders hung limp.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Reminded me we have bankruptcy to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work:
Emptied all the stockings, then turned with a jerk,
And placing his thumb on the tip of his nose
With fingers outspread, out the doorway he strode.

He sprang to his limo, his team gave a whistle,
And away they all drove like a fiscal cruise missile.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
“Happy spending to us! Keep your own budgets tight!”

Image: Internet Archive Book Images, via Flickr // public domain