The Mayor of Gasoline Dreams
The mayor grins beneath the spotlights,
hands pressed in prayer behind glassy eyes,
Flanked by wives who smile for ransom and banners
where the dead don’t rise.He peddles hope in a language minted by marketers,
each syllable lacquered in gloss,
As smog ghosts drift through city blocks
where mothers count what mercy costs.A thousand ribbon-cuttings
for a thousand empty lots—he grins, he shakes,
Every handshake is a contract sealed with gasoline
and stomachaches.The playgrounds echo gunshots,
police tape flutters on the wind,
But in every press release, tomorrow’s bright,
and every sinner’s “friend.”He quotes the saints and cuts their funding,
“for a brighter flame,”And in his breath,
the children cough and learn to spell their shame.
He builds new roads with names of martyrs, paves the cemeteries twice,
Gives medals to the grieving, hands out coffins as advice.Charity is headline sugar,
handed out for staged applause,
But watch the budget’s hidden slaughter,
ethics murdered by a clause.City hall is lined with mirrors,
angled just to catch the light,
He posts a selfie with the dying,
and spins disaster into “right.”Approval ratings
keep ascending as oxygen begins to fall,
He bans the future, taxes breathing,
drills for votes in funeral halls.Every promise painted gold
while pipelines bleed into the creek,
He pockets cash from lobby ghosts and feeds the hungry oil slick.
Smiles for cameras, tears for sale—he claims he understands,
But behind the barricades, the desperate trade their lungs for empty
hands.He toasts to freedom in the chamber while the children sip on lead,
His posters hang above eviction notes,
a slogan where the living bled.When riots rise like thunderstorms,
he polishes his blame,
Says, “We’re united in adversity—let’s ignite a brighter flame.”Approval up,
the city gasps, a burning pyre of rusted cars,
He counts the votes as churches close
and hospitals conceal their scars.He’s the king of burning futures,
peddler of nightmare’s gleam—The city’s burning,
but he smiles and sells another gasoline dream.
Champagne stains his tie as sirens scream in every street,His limousine floats past the slums, the broken windows, the defeat.He’ll promise rain while selling drought, a vision scorched and mean,Every child’s cough is profit, every blackened lung unseen.He will die in
headlines, silver-framed, remembered with a half-fake tear—But in the dust behind the cameras, all that’s left is burned-out fear.So
carve his name in soot and glass,
in columns paved with spinning lies—He built his throne on gasoline
and left the world to vaporize.