By Kristy Gustafson
'Twas the night before 4/20, when all through the town,
The whole industry was scurrying, the hours counting down.
Weed cookies were stacked in the Kitchen with care,
In hopes that Snoop Dogg soon would be there.
The stoners were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of smoke clouds danced in their heads.
With Mary Jane in their bowls and edibles in their packs,
They awoke the next day armed with 4/20 hacks.
When out from the dispensaries arose such a clatter,
With purchases of flower and wax and some shatter.
Away to Civic Center Park, people flew like a flash,
To meet up with friends and share their sweet stash.
The sun was glowing and so were the vibes,
With laughter and love you just couldn’t describe.
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
But drones delivering munchies and delicious craft beer.
Like a dream, they appeared to fall from the sky.
Then they knew in a moment they were probably just high.
The rest of the day would be spent in the grass,
To the familiar melody of “puff, puff, and pass.”
The sun was finally setting, so the squads gave a whistle,
And to Cheba Hut they all flew, like the down of a thistle.
But everyone would exclaim before they took a Lyft out of sight: