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Poem

Oh what have you done to me,
A city built in the name of Christ.

When an earthquake struck,
Destroying all my pretty clothing
And shaking  the flesh off all my bones.
Leaving only my skeletal frame ,
Half submerged in sewerage raw
And liquefaction adding to my woes,
Threatening to make me completely disappear.

No one with water to spare as I began to choke
On air now so foul.

When you felt safe to come out and see my plight,
You drew lots for my last vestments of dignity, 
Before inviting others in to help you pick over my bones.
You even looked the other way when the Vultures started gathering.

You filled my streets with low life's and vermin knee deep.
And patched my broken bones with cheap plaster.
Watching as those who yet stood by me grew weak,
Bled dry by insurance companies and their red tape, con artists, 
And Cowboys posing as builders,
Supplied by rip-off merchants of every description,
All overseen by government official with no idea what to do,
Except find ways to spend their money unwisely.

You raised $50 million dollars to build a playground
For children without proper homes and not enough food to eat.
Another ten or so million was found to build a marble wall 
In memory of of those who fell beside me as the earthquake struck.
Do you think that will give them eternal rest.

No future do I see worth having here,
Can you not just let me sleep,
So Christ can rebuild his beloved garden city,
Away from this foul swamp,
Filled with indifference and despair,
That the rest of the country has left to rot.

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