In the spirit of the holiday season, we take a pause from the Morton Grove Melodrama to offer the following, (Morton Grove Melodrama will return next week)
OH CHRISTMAS TREE
“O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
What deal is Dan D. making?
In rooms that offer privacy
He’s got the voters quaking.
Would his bad deal relieve us from
Our fund reserves and leave us none,
Or would he give the store away
while transparency he’s faking?”
THE WEEK AFTER CHRISTMAS
‘Tis the week after Christmas, and all through M.G.
No reporter is stirring, ’tis still as can be.
Some laws have been passed, neatly stacked, clearly labeled
They’re worded just so, Danny’s cronies enabled.
The leaders are nestled at the Bringer with beers
To toast the most messed-up government in years.
The Action folks bustle with those who still truck
With the notion DiMaria’s not yet a lame duck.
When out there on Dempster there erupts such a clatter,
They rush from their slot machines to see what is the matter.
Away to the windows they fly in a flitter,
To check out the action, then share it on Twitter.
The glow of their phones on the new-fallen snow,
Gives a luster of midday to objects below,
When what should appear like a great apparition,
But an irate St. Nick and some village politicians.
While the pols look around, a little perplexed,
The onlookers all take a pause from their texts.
For the old elf’s eyes flash with a furious flame,
As he paces, and shouts, and he calls them by name:
“DiMaria and Grear! Witko and Minx!
John Pietron! John Thill! And Ed Ramos, this stinks!
I’ve brought you all here to account for yourselves.
Your behavior this year has confounded my elves.
They know how to make every game, toy, and treat.
But the lists we’ve received make that all obsolete.
We’re wizzes at handling all sorts of appeals,
But we can’t stomach incompetence or Di Maria’s deals.
The voters are miffed about your government phones,
While the seniors are being taxed out of their homes.”
His brow furrows deep at the thought of their shafting the residents’ pockets with the crap they are drafting.
“Magic works wonders – its power is stunning.
But not even it gets your government running.”
“You tell ’em, old man,” Liston shouts with delight.
Santa turns, eyebrow arched: “I’d hoped you’d be contrite.
Then Claus rolls his eyes. “I know children, remember:
Naughty all year ’til it hits mid-December.
With the election next year the future seemed bright:
You had a grand chance to start the year right,
With the threat of a challenge, like an Elf on the Shelf,
To make you do good in spite of yourself.
But you let it take hold with your wheeling and dealing,
Bond rating lowered and wrecked the debt ceiling –”
“But wait!” Billy cries, “they’ve all earned your disdain,
But me, I’ve done nothing to add to this pain.”
Claus gives him a look that betrays disbelief:
“You, my dear Billy, are the comic relief.”
He then dresses them down with great vigor and verve:
“This isn’t the government people deserve.
I’d fill up your stockings with rocks but it’s plain
that that would do nothing to ease voter’s pain!’
So instead,” the elf says to the folks on the Mall,
“A public rebuke seems the best gift of all.”
And with the air thick with his final dismissals
He springs to his sleigh, which appears when he whistles.
And they hear his last curse, as he drives out of sight —
“You idiots will never get government right.”
HAPPY NEW YEAR MORTON GROVE!