If I were a City (Independent Poem)

There's a lake at my heart
And by it's ghats
Pigeons follow feeders' quirks
A market of ethnic jeweller
Cuts the monotony

And what is my ethnic you may ask
It is blood and bedroom violence
Of body politics and informed silence
Children, however,
Read it as the glorious past

Puddles through roads
Nobody cares where they come from
Has there been a sewage leak?
Has the underbelly finally given in
To centuries of consumption?

Marigold trees, like hopes, on sidewalks
No, the government didn't put them
They're mine, I water them,
They die every winter,
I sow yet again.

I get tourists
They call it a party town
Hippies, Junkies, Broken Hearts, Lovers
Politicians who never made it big
They fancy expensive hotels
They leave in the mornings