Sprawl

Bells don't peal. There's no church near,
And, anyway, I have no faith. Nobody
But my wife and me laments the loss
Of what, because it's gone, cannot
Be seen. The sun writhes through
The rows of houses that were built
Across the street on land on which
The deer once grazed. They're ugly
Structures, painted as if stuccoed
With somebody's shit, and occupied
By dowdy proles who drive away
Each weekday morning, then come
Out to mow their lawns on weekend
Afternoons. Their children squeal.
Their canines bark, and my wife
And I, from our metal chairs on our
Front porch can see that we're
No longer in the country. We're
Submerged within the sprawl.
No bells are pealing for our loss,
But we both feel it. We've agreed
It's time for us to leave.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 73 times
Written on 2017-04-23 at 14:32

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text