Don Roach: Rhode Island's Christmas Carol
Don Roach, GoLocalProv MINDSETTER™
Don Roach: Rhode Island's Christmas Carol
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Rhode Island
Only the RI GOP was stirring, selecting their latest head.
As pension votes had been purchased with care,
Municipal reform hopes dashed in the cool fall air.
The voters were nestled all snug in their homes,
While nightmares of car taxes pounded their heads,
And mamma in her ’97 Saab, and I in my new Volvo,
We shouting, “No to this tax, no, no, no!”
When out on the lawn arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed hoping it wasn’t a robber,
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Ran past the car tax bill and threw up the sash.
The moon on the deck of my new porch aglow,
Gave my neighbors the false impression our property taxes had again fallen low.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a limo with a driver and eight in the rear.
With a middle aged driver, mouthing “Trust me”,
I knew in a moment, it must be St. Chafee.
More motley than the Crue they twisted his name,
And he whistled, and shouted, calling them out by name!
"Now Walsh! now, Fox! now, Paiva-Weed and Raimondo!
Come On, Fung! Come On, Avedesian! And you too Taveras and Gist!
To the top of the State House! To the back hall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As sheep to the slaughter unaware what may come,
When knife meets back, front, or the side,
So up to the State House the coursers they flew.
With the limo full of broken promises went St Chafee too.
And then, in a thunder, you could hear in the room,
The clamoring and clawing of each one’s requests.
As eyes rolled in my head, and turned at the sound,
“Trust Me” St Chafee clamored all around.
Dressed in a suit, graying head and black boots,
His image all tarnished by unfulfilled promises to boot!
A bundle of Mediocrity clung on his back,
And he looked like a swindler, promising this and doing that.
His eyes-how they twinkled! His fingers now twitching!
His cheeks were like roses, worn from the kicking!
His droll little mouth had gone to and fro,
One should think that his face would be white like the snow.
The stump of political capital lay beneath,
And thoughts of three more years hung like a two ton wreath.
But another in the room had a smooth face and wry smile,
Nothing shook when he laughed, appearing to love to beguile.
Cicilline’s overconfidence chubby and plump, so full of himself,
And they laughed when they saw him, unable to contain themselves!
A wink of his eye and an email donation request,
Soon made me know Rhode Island had much to dread.
He spoke a few words, then back to his ‘work’,
Filling his coffers, oh what a jerk!
And campaigning through both sides of his lips,
Leaving the crowd while dancing and shaking his hips.
Then St. Chafee exited right after Cicilline giving his team a whistle,
And the team flew save Walsh who had blown the whistle.
But I heard Chafee exclaim, before he ducked out of sight,
“Happy Christmas…err…Holidays to all, and to all a good-night!”
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