An ugly orange looking brick facing sits across an equally
ugly city hall building.
Weld burns standing out like mold on day's old bread.
A strange thin tower with a pole above it, carries a small
red light of warning to planes flying overhead.
Several men working atop the roof, moving around, but
appear to be doing nothing of importance, because whatever
it is - they're doing it slowly.
Another blight and blemish on our once beautiful desert city.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem