A Visit from the Property Owners
A look at Pottstown’s Ghost of Not to Far Off Future…
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ Pottstown
Not a creature was stirring, not even the council clowns;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that ethical behavior soon would be there;
The members of council were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of ways to screw over the property owners danc’d in their heads,
And Flanders with his big new paycheck, and Toroney with his crap,
Had just settled their brainless-heads for a long winter’s nap —
When out on High Street there arose such a clatter,
Flanders’ gestapo sprang to attention to see what was the matter.
Away to the window they flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters, as the disturbance made Flanders’ teeth gnash.
The moon on the breast of a people packed High Street,
got the gestapo giddy with visions of who to first beat;
When, what to Flanders’ wondering eyes should appear,
But a hoard of fed-up property owners, with their worthless appraisals that caused many a tear,
The owners were so sick of the borough’s lame-ass schtick,
They knew in a moment that Flanders was now the new chief slippery dick,
More rapid than eagles the detractors they came,
And they whistled, and shouted, and call’d them all by name:
“Now! Torney, now! Gibson, now! Weand and Kirkland,
“On! Chomnuk, on! Kulp, now! Gery and Heath;
“To the top of borough hall! To the bottom of the barrel!”
“We’re going to make damn sure that you all become politically sterile!”
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
The furious property owners were fed up being the borough’s fall guy;
So up and down High Street the owners how they yelled and hollered,
They decided to storm borough hall with everyone carrying a bollard,
And then in a twinkling, there was heard on the ground
Came many a taxed-out property owner abound.
As Flanders and his gestapo tried in vain to lock down borough hall,
Down High Street the wrathful owners came ready for a brawl,
They were ready to rumble, from their head to their feet,
And Flanders and council knew right then and there they were going to get beat,
The owners easily outnumbered the power-hungry fools,
And how they were very ticked for being used as tools,
Toroney’s eyes – how they shifted! His motives: how risky,
Some even swore that Weand smelt of whiskey!
Mayor Heath’s frowned little mouth made her look like such a schmo,
By now everyone was so terribly sick of her rainbow and puppy dog show;
The nightsticks that Flanders’ gestapo held tight in their hands,
Were deemed useless to quell the owner’s demands.
The owners cried out that their concerns be heard
And when Weand tried to answer his speech was indeed slurred
The dastardly culprits were rounded up and placed in the slammer,
Because everyone in the county knew they were all a bunch of scammers,
With a wink of their eyes and a twist of their heads
The property owners knew that this mess was certainly a clean-up job for the feds
While in the slammer the guilty spoke not a word, even though there were smirks,
And it was then confirmed by the feds that Flanders and council were indeed jerks,
And laying their fingers aside of their noses
And giving a nod, Flanders and council agreed to stop the rash of forcloses.
The property owners danc’d in the streets, to their neighbors gave a happy whistle,
And away they all went home, excited of Flanders and council’s dismissal:
But as the property owners were heard exclaim, ere they sped out of sight —
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.