Slow Death Of A Community (Poetry)

This town had character and charm —
a real community
before brash changes did their harm
and trashed it — wantonly.

It was a town where people knew
their neighbours and they cared
about each other — working through
those problems they all shared.

Yes, there were things that weren’t ideal
like every place on earth
yet home is home, as most folk feel
and value its true worth.

But not so planners with their schemes
to butcher, carve and dice
well-loved streets — by any means —
no protest looked at twice.

The toll over the years is grim —
a church, an old theatre
despite petitions thudding in
the outlook is no better.

Nothing’s sacred — not one stone
is safe from private deals
done clandestinely by phone
to grease cold profit’s wheels.

Then (afterwards) with pompous show
new plans go on display
as though they give hoot what Joe
(the) Public has to say.

Too many homely landmarks gone
these latter days I grieve
for that lost town where I belonged ...
I cannot wait to leave.