‘Twas the Night Before Christmas: 2011
‘Twas the night
before Christmas, when all through house,
Not a creature was
stirring, not even a louse.
The stockings were
hung by the chimney with care
In hopes a city
manager soon would be there.
Mike Mearan was
nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of hookers
danced in his head,
And Kalb on the
toilet, in his dunce’s cap,
Had just settled
down for a long winter’s crap,
When out on the
lawn there arose such a clatter,
Kalb sprang from
the toilet to see what was the matter.
Away to the window
he flew like a flash,
Tore open the
shutters and smoked some hash.
The moon on the
breast of a hooker below
Made him want to
do wheelies in the snow,
When what to his
wandering eye should appear,
But the recycled auditor
swigging some beer.
A Kiwanian, looking
dishonest and spent,
It could be nobody
else but Trent.
Pixilated from
playing financial games,
He whistled and
called out some names:
“Here Horner! Here
Raison! Here Tricky Nixon,
As sure as shootin’
I’m puttin’ the fix in.
You’ll all get raises,
public employees all,
Cause your CPFA’s on the ball.”
“To Capital
Improvements say bye-bye,
Cause they’re nothing but a lot of pie in the sky.”
Then up to the
house-top he flew
Like an elephant jumping out of a zoo.
Meanwhile,
tinkling, Kalb heard on the roof
A drunken footstep that he thought was a hoof.
Failing to flush
the toilet, as Allison told him, he turned around
Just as Trent came down the chimney like a chow hound.
Like a black sheep from head to foot,
Covered all over with
inches of soot,
He resembled a
sweep who’d just come back
From supplying Mary Poppins crack.
His eyes so twinkling, his smile so Kiwanis,
His bulk was just short
of dinosaurus.
A Certified Public
Financial Administrator,
He was deficit financing’s favorite perpetrator.
He was chubby and
plump, a gigantic old elf,
And Kalb laughed when
he saw him in spite of himself.
A wink of Trent’s
eye, which showed he would fudge it,
Made Kalb understand he would “balance” the budget.
Trent spoke not a
word as he cooked the books,
Transferring funds
to the usual crooks.
Then putting a
finger up his nose,
He chuckled and up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his
cycle and gave a whistle,
And away he flew
like an unguided missile.
But Kalb heard him
exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
“Be sure to write
Forrey an email tonight.”
Robert Forrey, 12/24/11
