The motorcade,
stopping before camera crews,
and microphones,
was as incongruous
as a guffaw
at a funeral.
The surrounding buildings,
derelict and time-worn
as the few faces
peering, confused,
from mouldy doorways
and flaking windowsills,
were stark:
tones of black, white, and grey-
a dismal dream
of some forgotten battlefield.
The mayor,
cloaked with a bonhomie
born of a profound sense
of self-worth,
smiled, facing the cameras:
yes, the city had concluded
a mutually satisfying agreement
with the developer.
The area would be
reclaimed,
revitalised,
refurbished,
and released from the state of decay
into which it had fallen.
The one radical reporter
who wished to question
relocation of the low rental units,
the rehab centre,
the soup kitchens,
was swept aside
by smiling, applauding
businessmen,
anxious to escape
such unsavoury environs.
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