Goodnight moon. Goodnight stars.
Goodnight overpriced, ridiculous bars.
Goodnight lingering odor of weed.
Goodnight jackass on velocipede.
A goodnight to Wicker, where coolness is king,
Although it’s been a good decade since this place was The Thing.
Goodnight Milwaukee Avenue bike rider clog.
Goodnight gutterpunk and your bandana-clad dog.
Goodnight dueling donut shops, each trying to richen,
“Glazed” by putting Rosie back in the kitchen.
Goodnight old time dives, seeing their way out,
In favor of artisanal microbrewed stout.
Goodnight hip new spots that could see a way in, yo,
Each opening trumpeted by DNAinfo.
Goodnight Proco Joe. (Hey, is it Pro-koh or Prah-koh?)
And goodnight to Big Star and its sad, whitewashed taco.
Goodnight buildings. Goodnight lights.
Goodnight dwindling number of local non-whites.
We Columbus your culture, we foodie your food.
But say “gentrify” and we consider you rude.
“Resistance is futile!” yells craft cocktail Borg.
“Now go fund my band at Indiegogo dot org.”
Our discernment is wee;
Our entitlement, mondo.
Goodnight furniture store.
Good morning, new condo.
Goodnight Margaret Wise Brown. Sorry I screwed with your text.
And goodnight Logan and Humboldt. Sweet dreams, ‘cause you’re next.