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My city hall
At the foot of my city hall lay stairs to nowhere
My city hall holds flags that have lost meaning
It’s become a place for bureaucrats to lay waste in my city
No open doors for citizens so where do I go
With my problems a glass bottle may work
But it won’t float where needed
But maybe the finder can do more than me
Because my city hall isn’t open to the public
poem
by
Ronald Speight
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