In the Suburbs

Another platinum blonde goes by.
She's dressed in black. They all are
Here. They all drive European cars,
Which issue from four-bedroom houses,
Perched on plots of land with weedless
Lawns and trees which flower, but don't
Produce messy fruit. Their husbands work
In offices, but prove their manliness by
Driving back and forth in pickup trucks.
Their kids are snotty, though polite
(To grown-ups in the neighborhood).
Each porch receives some sort of manna,
Boxes which descend from heaven
Daily, to the blondes' delight. They take
Their kids to school each morning, jog
A little after that, and then they shop
And watch TV. The limits of imagination
Are not distant here.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 23 times
Written on 2020-05-17 at 23:35

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