Housing estate, Besançon

It’s not just the smell of piss
or the melted buttons in the lift,
the stairs that have never been swept,
the graffiti grime at eye level
or even the sad multicultural mural
in the Rue Pablo Picasso.
Something’s gone wrong
in this ville nouvelle.

The grey hillocks used to be a rubbish tip,
you can tell,
and the quiet grey mall
is all cracked windows and empty shops.
We stand dazzled
by relentless concrete spaces,
looked down upon
by all those architects and town planners.

Au revoir apartment 89, block 24.
With our bags and baskets
we walk away, for good.
Vous allez faire un pique-nique?
says a tousle-headed child who cannot.