The Walls Came Crumbling Down

They call it rebuilding.
A multi-million dollar
relief package is stamped, "regrowth"
by a diamond ring clad hand.
Passed around with smiles and back pats,
a speech about commitment is made
right in the middle of Jackson Square,
which stayed high and dry
in the face of flooding and looting
and the hell bent, terrible state
that befell a once beautiful, decadent city.

On Saturday the business owners,
and barkeeps along Bourbon Street,
who only lost power, and customers,
and didn't risk drowning in
their own homes and stores,
get to come back and see
how long it will take before
they can unlock iron and steel gates
turn the lights on,
and welcome your money
into their hands.

The relief package is stamped, "regrowth".
Everyone professes a commitment
to stay the course and not forget,
bring this beautiful city back
to it's questionable previous magnificence.
Off the Elysian Fields exit,
next to the B.P. truck stop,
dreams and services are on hold.
The Deacon at the Lutheran church
has to tear down what God hath built.
With sledge hammer he attacks
sodden sheet rock and ruined siding.
Eyes turned upward he cries.
"Lord is this rebuilding?"
And the walls came crumbling down.