The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Health Care Act that day;
Without the Freedom Caucus, the bill could not be saved.
The moderates were terrified by the COB’s grim score,
And the Democrats just sat there—they’d seen this all before.
The old and poor will have insurance, but at half their salary;
The rich will get a tax surprise beneath their Christmas tree.
This is the ultimate health care defined by Ayn Rand—
Make it rich or prepare to join the heavenly angel band.
But Ryan couldn’t hide the fact that premiums would rise,
And if you read the fine print you could not be surprised
That millions upon millions would lose the coverage they had,
Thanks to that damn Obama. Even gone he made them mad.
The pundits got their knives out and called the bill a joke.
Kasich and the governors said their red states would go broke.
But Republicans inhabit an imaginary realm,
And they were sure they would prevail with Trump and Ryan at the helm.
At first the lanky Speaker in a firm voice did intone
That no amendments would there be—the bill was set in stone.
But after Mrs. DeVos helped him with the math
He found he held a losing hand—to 215 there was no path.
Then from the mouths of Reagan’s party there rose a lusty yell
That rumbled through the Capitol like a war cry straight from hell.
McDonnell almost fainted and in delight Pete King did squeal
For Donald, mighty Donald, was stepping up to seal the deal.
He brought them to the Oval Office and twisted every arm;
He blew such smoke his handlers dismantled the alarms.
If they couldn’t bring themselves to like it they got his ironclad guarantee
That all would be made perfect in Phase Two if not Phase Three.
There was ease in Donald’s manner, he had no doubt he would astound
He knew not what was in the bill, but he would bring them ‘round
He would bless each change they asked for, it wasn’t like he cared
And as he caved and caved again, the pilgrims marveled at his hair.
The Freedom Caucus fumed against the socialistic stuff—
Maternity care and Medicaid—they called the Donald’s bluff.
“We will only cast our votes for right-wing thoughts purebred.”
“But what about the Senate?” Ryan asked. “Strike one,” the alt-right said.
As rightwards moved the legislation, the moderates complained.
“My district went for Clinton—why must I bear all the pain?
Who will pay for my robo calls and bury all the dead?”
“Grow a pair,” said Donald. “Strike two,” the moderates said.
The smile is gone from Ryan’s face, for there is no Plan B;
This Wednesday midnight meeting will bring his charges to their knees.
The Donald is beside him as they make their final pitches;
Winning is for men like them and losing is for bitches.
Oh, all across this favored land the many millions can exhale—
The Republican death panels at least for now will not prevail.
Let the word go forth to all of deadly TrumpCare’s rout
For there is no joy in Mar-a-Lago—Trump and Ryan have struck out.
