We’ve had a year of changes in our city, it is plain;
The proof is in the streetcars that go swooshing past on Main.
Their sleek design has drawn the crowds to see what all the fuss is
(Excepting for the clang-clang-clang, they’re quieter than buses).
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By beating all the numbers of the ridership projected,
We plan to order extra cars to handle what’s expected.
The motorists who use the street have (mostly) learned to share it;
When parking, note the painted line — and prudently beware it.
A party for the streetcars marked their start way back in May;
There’s talk about expanding where the line may go one day.
And how about the earthquakes that we never used to feel?
The first one got us talking — “Did it wake you?” was the deal.
A second one caused lesser fuss, though many felt its shake;
How nonchalant we’ve all become — “Oh, just another quake!”
For Royals fans, our two great years are memories today;
We’d hoped to add a third straight year of playoffs at the K.
We’re clearly spoiled rotten here — we pretty much expected
Another super season (which the Fates, it seems, rejected).
But then a minor miracle — the answer to our prayer?
Emboldened by the Mantis we went on an August tear!
Alas, the Mantis died, but then a substitute was found
Which then the Royals gave away — an action to astound.
(That gave away the season, too, when viewed in retrospect;
For dreams are often fragile things you’re wise to not neglect.)
September brought a nightmare, so of lessons, you can reap it:
If you’ve got a lucky Mantis, then, for heaven’s sakes, you keep it!
The KC fans have shifted gears, we’re now a football town;
The Chiefs are nearly at the top as winter comes around.
The early scorn that some had heaped has fizzled; it’s replaced
By all those wacky wins on which our winning year is based:
A miracle at Denver, and Atlanta, one as well
And beating up the Raiders as the nation watched was swell.
Been nearly half a century since Chiefs have reached their goal:
But now, oh, how we dare to dream: another Super Bowl!
One pest we hope we’ll leave behind when ’16 is completed:
The dreaded mites (the oak leaf kind) — how thoroughly defeated
We felt as summer turned to fall, and still at fever pitch
Those awful welts continued their incessant dermal itch.
The Union Station clock out front came back in nifty form;
A year or more it had been gone since toppling in a storm.
And high atop a pylon over Bartle, in the air,
A copter plucked a “curler” that was needing some repair;
For weeks the pylon looked forlorn, no bauble to adorn it;
But now the sculpture’s back in place, no need to up and mourn it.
And don’t forget the Broadway Bridge — unchanged, except in name;
Renamed in fact, for Buck O’Neil, who earned our town’s acclaim.
Now, sometimes things surprise you that you didn’t know you had;
It happened at the Nelson, where the folks are mighty glad.
A painting kept in storage has erupted into fame;
It’s all because of authorship, connections to a name.
The evidence? Compelling, for this finding, oh, my gosh —
A bona-fide, yes, genuine, why-looky-there: a Bosch!
We look ahead to ’17, so go ahead and clap:
The moon and sun will soon align to put us on the map.
The lunar shadow’s sweeping arc is headed for our town;
We bet a lot of visitors will likely come around.
The Great Eclipse of ’17: let’s hope for sunny skies —
And keep a sunny attitude the whole year, if we’re wise.
In a holiday tradition on the editorial page, this retrospective romp in verse was cooked up by The Star's resident versifier, Don Munday.