A Really, Really Great Nativity


These three Weismen follow a star

Sid, Herb and Saul stuck in a car

Caught in traffic for an hour

Inching along toward Trump Tower


It‘s Christmas Eve, New York City

Snowflakes make Manhattan pretty

But these brothers are in no mood

‘Cause they got business to conclude


With eyes on where the light shines down

They ditch the cab and march cross town

Lock step at a militant pace

Determination paints each face


At Fifth Avenue all one sees

Are limousines, black SUVs

Quadruple parked in front of where

The star beams down its sacred glare 


At the desk a Trump maitre d’

Types the names of the Weismen three

Moments later their ear drums pop

The elevator jets to the top


Two 14-karat doors of gold

Open on a sight to behold

A manger built of glass and steel

Those gathered round were made to kneel


Trump females in designer gowns

Flank their leader with pouty frowns

Trump brothers in safari gear

Armed with machetes and a spear


Where the baby Jesus would lie

Sits Donald Trump in suit and tie

Young Baron plays games on his phone

Lounging cross-legged by the throne


“The Three Weismen, with gifts I hope,”

Donald announced. Sid answered, “Nope.”

The Trump girls gasp, the brothers flexed

Baron yawned then finished a text


“You’re president but you still owe

For concrete work three years ago.

We came now so you don’t forget

Your bankruptcy put us in debt.”


Trump stood and spread his arms apart

“It’s Christmas, there’s love in my heart

You three Weismen, I now declare

Ambassadors of Sidewalk Repair.



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Political Poet

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