A Fountain of Polemic

I've got a bad summer cold. There's nothing worse, believe me. I mean it's so unseasonal--no good pretending its hay fever either--everyone twigs you've got a stinker of a cold and thereby assumes you must have a really unhealthy lifestyle, etc. Ho hum. Anyway, it's put me in one of those moods where I won't be taking any prisoners. No, not today, thank you. The muskrat gland is firing on all cylinders (not to mention the mucus reserves) but perhaps one better not mention anything like that--as it could seriously gross out one's Canadian readership, etc (if I have any.)

Here is a poem on a local landmark which has been in the news recently:

Lament for the Mazda Fountain

You were a carbuncle on

the face of the Valley Gardens project,

the wrong sort of heritage,

an awkward pensioner relative,

who has out-lived their welcome,

expensive to keep--

far too prodigal with water

and often the wind blew your voluminous jets 

hither and thither and people walking by

(including the odd wino)

got soaked as a result.

You sported their colour, but alas,

the Greens were never

likely to be enamoured of your

implacably ugly basin with its dreadnought

steel-plating from a coal-fired age--

you were always destined to be an affront to

the ideology--deemed not fit for purpose

(well, you are electric, which

combined with water makes you a rum mix of elements.)

They wanted you out of sight

marooned in Hove Lagoon for the duration

while they commissioned

a nice sustainable water feature

just like that one to commemorate

Diana in Hyde Park--oops,

perhaps not.

You were an obstacle in the way

of their blandscape nirvana--

their picturesque schemes
to plant new traffic roundabouts 
the shape of ciabattas with pretty paved

areas here and there, the significance of which

remains a puzzle to most pedestrians.

Above all, you were in the way

of the cycle path they wanted to build

and everything has to give way to cyclists now,

(although Brighton cyclists are a feral

bunch and rarely keep to paths or give way,

or even understand the symbol for it.)

I’m probably one of a small percentage

who has always been a fan

of your lumbering industrial chic

with all its design fails,

brazenly ensconced at the end of Victoria Gardens,

like a vision from a bad steam punk hangover,

your light show cancelled long ago,

your electric rings splattered with pigeon guano,

looking more suited to boiling an ostrich egg, perhaps.

Anyway, I always enjoyed the spectacle of your lavish jets of water

refreshing that arid corner.

There are rumours of a reprieve now those

Green despots on the council have been weeded out.

Indeed, why should they be the ones to decide

what's good or bad for Brighton?

The beast in all its naked glory (that tree isn't growing out of it btw, just a bit of tromp l'oeil)