All that Glitters is not Gentrification by Anne Cheilek

 When the big G blew into town, the boldest

of the old levittown ranchers sprouted pillars,
poor-man’s porticos. “Pretty inside” signs soon

gave way to demo crews, months of hammer and

tonging. Before you could say uppity scum we

were knee-deep in omakase cocktails and stingy-

brim toppers. The hottest fiber-to-the-frontage laid,
streets repaved. Last laundromat closed up for

coffee, fair-trade. Some apparitions were hard

to understand. The corporate candy-colored bikes

thrown down all over town, kick-stands a-prop, riders

raptured. Most curious of all, the sudden craze for white

poodles. Here a Blanca, there a Beau, facsimile Snow-

balls behind every palisade. When the spoor of the new

breed began to bud all over the virgin pavements, some

wag, an old-timer no doubt, stalked the walks by night,

doggedly spray-painting every turd a shiny gold.