There once was a council reset,
That some folks were not ready to get.
When voters said “new,”
The benches they drew
Became suddenly hard to accept.

A shuffle of chairs caused alarm—
Not chaos, but balance and calm.
Fresh voices were placed,
Old habits displaced,
Yet outrage was waved like a charm.

“Tradition!” rang out from outside the rail,
As if time alone must prevail.
But elections decide
Who steers for the ride—
Experience helps, but does not entail.

Committees were built to be mixed,
With mentoring quietly fixed.
First-termers stood tall,
Not pawns after all,
While hierarchies loosened their grip.

When doubts on a pilot were aired,
It wasn’t the danger declared—
It was civic debate,
Not sabotage’s gate,
Though nuance was oddly impaired.

To grieve for lost chairs is human,
But governance isn’t a museum.
The voters spoke loud,
The council avowed
That change isn’t rude—it’s the medium.

So pass on the popcorn and see:
This isn’t a plot—it’s democracy.
No throne is retained,
No role is ordained—
Just ballots, and onward we’ll be.

Carolyn Gabbay
Newtonville