'Twas the night before PISA Day, when all through the foundations
The wonks were all dreaming about Bill Gates's donations;
The rankings were crafted for each nation with care,
In hopes that more grants would come from billionaires;
The children were tested and stressed at their desks;
While visions of bubble sheets made them feel quite grotesque;
Suburban moms in their 'kerchiefs, and dads in their caps,
Hoped on test day their children's brains wouldn't collapse,
When out at the DOE there arose such a clatter,
I looked up from Klein's tablet to see what was the matter.
When what did I see coming 'round the corner,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reformers,
With a six-foot-five driver looking for schools for flunkin',
I knew in a moment that it was Arne Duncan!
As excised as Jeb! Bush, those reformers, they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
"Now, Geoffrey! now, Wendy! now Klein and Michelle Rhee!
On, Checker! on, Whitney! on, Eva and Petrilli! [Can you even believe I pulled that rhyme off? - JJ]
And then, in a twinkling, after making some big bucks,
Then each little reformer cried: "America's schools suck!":
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the TV cable Arne came in with a bound.
He was dressed all in sweats, from his head to his foot,
But his numbers were tarnished with statistical soot;
A bundle of data he had flung on his back,
And he readied his numbers for the attack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
He looked like he'd Tweeted with jolly Steve Perry!
Atwist of his head and a wink of his eye,
Soon gave me to know he'd be yelling "Shanghai!";
He spoke lots of words, but not many made sense,
(Karen Lewis is right: he can sound a bit dense...)
Then laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, from the podium he rose;
He sprang to his limo, to his team gave a whistle,
Off they went to go spread the reformy epistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy PISA Day to all, and our schools really bite!”
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