Jun 2022
The wrecking ball long since
demolished boyhood house zen
located at 324 Level Road,
a once nonagricultural,
pastoral, rural residence,
which soulful yen
I called home while
veritably sequestered, quarantined, positioned...
sprawled atop spaciously shingled roof
countless years (B)efore (C)ovid-19
scanning distant horizon
for unsuspecting barenaked lady,
perhaps said goo goo doll sunbathing
catching rays while maybe listening
courtesy iPod to WXPN
one among several favorite stations of mine
one hotmail (male) buzzfeeding
avast fancy feast
home sweet home
since February 28th, 1968, when
Boyce and Harriet Harris
deceased parents then at their prime
both transplanted Brooklyn
Borough citified folks,
hankered to escape urban jungle
quickly acclimated livingsocial in the country.
Aforesaid domain didst span,
once assumed, encompassed, incorporated
one hundred plus acre wooded estate
(analogous to fictional land inhabited
by Winnie-the-Pooh and his friends)
listed in national register
as "Glen Elm", where ran
woodland surrounding a golden pond
favored by Canadian Geese,
but under game plan
of commercial developer Donald Neilson
(a tall lumbering
"all business no play doh" man.
Soon after aforementioned builder/realtor
bought expansive land
blueprints soon drafted for
an army of vinyl city
exemplifying Little boxes
on the hillside ditty
Little boxes made of ticky tacky...gritty
material upending wildlife refuge,
ah...what a pity.
Impossible mission to stop industrialization,
the das capital way
spurring thy preferential longing
for nature preservation oye vey,
and to make a million bucks in USA
if land left off limits
for propertied class today
then in the near future,
an aggressive builder will sashay
confirming prophecy
scooping up gobs of profit
out maneuvering competition
analogous to a marathon relay
race quickly witnessing little boxes
to sprout all the same
by construction workers,
hired brawny hands to maximize
American middle class dream
asper buying affordable home
nailing steady income,
viz all work and no play,
after acquiring a mortgage to outlay
which prospective homeowner
doth figuratively hammer away.
Their choices limited indeed
maybe there's a green one and a pink one
and a blue one and yellow one, how zing
free enterprise, and they're
all made out of ticky tacky
held together on a wing
and prayer they all look
just the same sporting lawn
anticipating family with young children
ready to play kiddy game
such as: Ring-a-ring-a-rosies
A pocketful of posies
A tissue, a tissue
We all fall down
The king has sent his daughter
To fetch a pail of water
A tissue, a tissue
We all fall down
The robin on the steeple
Is singing to the people
A tissue, a tissue
We all fall down
The wedding bells are ringing
The boys and girls are singing
A tissue, a tissue
We all fall down.
demolished boyhood house zen
located at 324 Level Road,
a once nonagricultural,
pastoral, rural residence,
which soulful yen
I called home while
veritably sequestered, quarantined, positioned...
sprawled atop spaciously shingled roof
countless years (B)efore (C)ovid-19
scanning distant horizon
for unsuspecting barenaked lady,
perhaps said goo goo doll sunbathing
catching rays while maybe listening
courtesy iPod to WXPN
one among several favorite stations of mine
one hotmail (male) buzzfeeding
avast fancy feast
home sweet home
since February 28th, 1968, when
Boyce and Harriet Harris
deceased parents then at their prime
both transplanted Brooklyn
Borough citified folks,
hankered to escape urban jungle
quickly acclimated livingsocial in the country.
Aforesaid domain didst span,
once assumed, encompassed, incorporated
one hundred plus acre wooded estate
(analogous to fictional land inhabited
by Winnie-the-Pooh and his friends)
listed in national register
as "Glen Elm", where ran
woodland surrounding a golden pond
favored by Canadian Geese,
but under game plan
of commercial developer Donald Neilson
(a tall lumbering
"all business no play doh" man.
Soon after aforementioned builder/realtor
bought expansive land
blueprints soon drafted for
an army of vinyl city
exemplifying Little boxes
on the hillside ditty
Little boxes made of ticky tacky...gritty
material upending wildlife refuge,
ah...what a pity.
Impossible mission to stop industrialization,
the das capital way
spurring thy preferential longing
for nature preservation oye vey,
and to make a million bucks in USA
if land left off limits
for propertied class today
then in the near future,
an aggressive builder will sashay
confirming prophecy
scooping up gobs of profit
out maneuvering competition
analogous to a marathon relay
race quickly witnessing little boxes
to sprout all the same
by construction workers,
hired brawny hands to maximize
American middle class dream
asper buying affordable home
nailing steady income,
viz all work and no play,
after acquiring a mortgage to outlay
which prospective homeowner
doth figuratively hammer away.
Their choices limited indeed
maybe there's a green one and a pink one
and a blue one and yellow one, how zing
free enterprise, and they're
all made out of ticky tacky
held together on a wing
and prayer they all look
just the same sporting lawn
anticipating family with young children
ready to play kiddy game
such as: Ring-a-ring-a-rosies
A pocketful of posies
A tissue, a tissue
We all fall down
The king has sent his daughter
To fetch a pail of water
A tissue, a tissue
We all fall down
The robin on the steeple
Is singing to the people
A tissue, a tissue
We all fall down
The wedding bells are ringing
The boys and girls are singing
A tissue, a tissue
We all fall down.
