A city of promenades and boulevards,

of parks and lakes, of art and opera.

Arcades painted as though by Michelangelo.

Glass towers scream wealth and comfort.

And in La Boca, street tango flashes

colour and excitment as tourists gape

​

But beyond the town,

along the highway,

police keep vigil.

Behind them

are the shanties,

huts thrown up

in brick if you're lucky

board and sheet if you're not

piled one on another

uncaring if the lower floors

can take the weight

sharing their water and sewage

​

The police stay behind the wheel

but watch that rocks

are not thrown

at passing cars.

A child's revenge

by the have nots

against the haves