‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through our places of work.
Not a creature was stirring, not even NERC.
The stockings were hung by the smokestack with care.
In hopes that St. Joe soon would be there.
Utility and regulatory leaders were nestled all snug in their beds.
While visions of federal funds danced in their heads.
When out on the beltway there arose such a clatter.
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the Energy Star window I flew like a flash.
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear.
But a Tesla EV charged up and in high gear.
With a little old driver, and plenty of infrastructure investment dough.
I knew in a moment it must be St. Joe.
More rapid than a Congressional hearing his coursers they came.
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.
“Now, Manchin! Now, Schumer. Now Kaine and Markey!
On, Pelosi! On, Hoyer! On Clyburn and Jeffries!”
So up to the rooftop solar panels the coursers they flew.
With the EV full of grants and loan guarantees, and St. Joe too.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around.
Down the smokestack St. Joe came with a bound.
He was dressed all in faux fur, from his head to his foot.
And his clothes were all tarnished with EPA criteria pollutants and soot.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head.
Soon gave me to know I had nothing, about risks to the grid, to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work.
And filled all the stockings, with federal dollars, then turned with a jerk.
He sprang to his EV, to his DOE team gave a whistle.
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove (autonomously) out of sight.
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Public Utilities Fortnight.”