’Twas a dark December night in Olde Gilroy,
Boys and girls locked at home and quite annoyed.
For Gavin once again laid the hammer down,
‘Masks violate my rights,” they frowned.
Scotty’s and Porcella’s joined the Collective Past,
Clocks and Collectibles stopped ticking just as fast.
Covid-19 infected more than just the herd,
The virus runs rampant, mostly undeterred.
First Street, that pesky state highway,
Is now smoother than the runners on Santa’s sleigh.
Just don’t stop in those green bike lanes,
As parallel parking no longer remains.
Sesquicentennial was a word we at last learned how to spell,
Although it was all for naught, as the city was not well.
Hours and hours of committee meetings,
But the coronavirus sent schedules depleting.
We had an election, the most important ever they say,
Record turnout and vote-by-mail caused a delay.
The Donald claimed there was fraud,
But that was only from Hurtado, the DA jawed.
Gabe and Roland said goodbye,
Jimmy and Marie did reply.
Scot Smithee hung up his police chief spurs,
And the council voted for Pedro, to be sure.
Gourmet Alley has been anything but,
Gary and John have a plan to crack the nut.
The Dispatch joined the effort, that’s apparent,
With a new location behind Nimble Thimble that’s transparent.
Gilroy wants to be a recreation destination,
To recover financially, that’s the motivation.
The 536 is the new hip term the city uses to market its land,
But hopefully the gardens won’t get canned.
Dear readers, we hope you’ve had a good year,
Warm wishes, maybe a dash of holiday cheer.
But please, stay away from others,
Until we get this deadly virus smothered.
