The tree is down, the star is stored,
the groaning at the groaning board
is over: no more rancid nog
or smoky, still-green Yule log.
Out, false cheer and de trop expense!
It’s time we showed some New Year’s sense.
Last year’s booty’s shook its shake,
so sniff the air, take a break—
at least until the bills arrive.
Ring in bright Two O One Five!
And as its twin fades, blow a kiss
to a few folks we won’t miss:
Hamid Karzai, take a bow.
We’re so glad you’re history now.
Go, Morsi, Modi, and Assad,
with Netanyahu, what a cad!
and Recep Tayyip Erdoğan,
our favorite Democratic Man!
I must tell you I’ve been rootin’
to put away Volodya Putin,
first for Sochi, then Ukraine.
Man! Politics is such a pain:
Ebola, then the ISIS ruction,
and the Nigerian abduction???
The world, tweets Thomas Piketty,
is mired in inequality.
I tweet back, Dude! Where you been keepin’?
Is you awake, or I was sleepin’?
Desperate pundits pled for drama
from the technocrat Obama,
good ol’ climate change deniers
trolled for votes, those arrant liars,
and Ferguson: a wake-up call.
The past was not the past at all!
But Staten Island’s Michael Grimm—
such style, such grace! High fives to him.
And Kim Jong-un! Hats off to you
for starring in The Interview.
R. Goodell, you’re looking swell.
How is it at the NFL?
I see Ray Rice has met Jay-Z
through Donald Sterling—love all three!
(But I’m just sayin’, Ray’s fiancée
has been texting with Beyoncé.)
Pope Francis friended Michael Sam,
his first draft pick! I call that glam.
This last year, too, by fits and starts,
marked a new zenith in the arts.
To young Chris Hughes, a shout-out loud
for making gays and techies proud,
and Andy Cohen for his fiery,
searching, consequential diary.
Taylor Swift is in New York!
Send her a Miley Cyrus twork.
Bill Cosby, is that really you?
My my, you’ve changed. Is that beard new?
No Fifty Shades this year, alas,
but Hachette sure kicked Bezos’ ass.
Fist bumps for Sony’s brave high flyers—
but, hey, what happened to Seth Meyers?
Friends, last year was just the pits,
a conga line of slurs and snits:
more torture at the CIA
(that story will not go away),
the Hobby Lobby at the Court
decreed who can and can’t abort,
De Blasio and his Chirlane
enduring major mayoral pain,
and our police force, taking s**t
just for overdoing it.
Philip Seymour Hoffman died,
with Robin Williams at his side,
García Marquez, Gordimer—
the world feels smaller without her—
Tony Marshall, Brooke’s good son,
(in fact he was the only one),
Mike Nichols, too, the one and only.
No wonder we’ve been feeling lonely!
And great Joan Rivers: no more tawk
on QVC. Proud old New Yawk
she lost a Jeter, got a Cuomo
back, and California Chrome, oh
yes, he disappointed. Nu?
Seth Meyers disappointed, too.
Want this new year to be better?
Shuck that ugly Christmas sweater,
test those brave New Year’s convictions
by helping frame a few predictions
(and while we’re at it, lift a prayer
for those who fly Malaysia Air).
Will Hillary at last get wealthy?
Can she fend off Jeb the Stealthy?
The Bushes think they own the place!
Perhaps they do, unless the race
shows traction for the toxic three
new tenors of the GOP:
Chris, Rand, and Marco. Let them schmooze,
we’ve only got two years to choose!
For now, just reapply mascara,
stay away from Preet Bharara,
keep your nose clean, get some sleep.
I guarantee it will be deep
now there’s no Colbert rapport,
and, thanks to Seth, late night’s a snore.
You’re out of danger, if you’re white,
and so, to one and all, goodnight.
Keep trying, friends, ’cause never fear,
it’s going to be a trying year.
