One of this city’s finest citizens has called for poems about Auckland’s Mayor race. Naturally I obliged with more than 140 characters.

O Auckland my Auckland! Our fearful trip is done,

John Banks has weathered every rack, the prize he sought is won,

The port is (not) near, the bells I hear, the people all revolting,

While follow eyes the steady dollar, the World Cup grim and boring;

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck public transport lies,

Fallen cold and dead.