Dave Bonta's "Urban renewal" is a short, compressed poem, and it reads like a confession made by a group. The speaker says "our work was art" and that "we gave meat to the poor," so they begin by listing their good deeds and their pride in them. Then the tone turns. The "best gates of the town" shut, and the reason is strange: they close "for fear of the town" itself. The place seems to be afraid of its own people.
The last lines are the hardest. A "design to prevent tomorrow" suggests a plan so cautious that it blocks the future, all "that we might err," or so no one can make a mistake. The poem seems to be pointing at how attempts to improve a city can harden into control and fear. The mood is cool, wary, and quietly ironic. The speaker sounds less proud than uneasy, as if seeing that the generosity came with locks attached.