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I drive down the dead avenues of
perfect lawns and early bedtimes
and turned the surf music
down low

I can’t help but to think about the
streets lined with pre-fabricated
houses like mausoleums of the
living dead

inside them resides
the Lacoste polos and
flowered sundresses with
immaculate credit scores,
mortgage payments and
college degree required jobs

they send their kids off to private
school or lacrosse practice
or piano recitals

and their relatives (who live
on streets just like theirs)
come over for celebrations
out on their patio sets

it’s all the same: a barbecue,
birthday parties, graduation
parties, block parties, picnics,
bar mitzvah’s, quinceañeras

a luxury motor vehicle in every garage
an inground pool in every backyard
complete with a row of beach chairs
the lawn is cut diagonally both ways
closets lined with dry-cleaned suits
their brooding emotions enfolded
with xanax and ******

not a suicide, ******, robbery in sight
the bums don’t stagger their sidewalks
the maniacs don’t trundle their streets
there’s not even a dog **** to pick up

they elect officials into office, have affairs
with each other’s wives out of boredom,
play frisbee golf, do yoga, drink light beer
and overpriced coffee,
they smoke expensive cigars
and tuck their shirts into their cargo shorts

they’ve given up, sold out
the body bag awaits
them all with
time as the only
contributing factor
but when the corpses
are disemboweled
death will be disappointed
because they’ll leave
nothing behind
no soul
no juice
no spine
to collect

living an ordinary life
costs an extraordinary
price.

one can only endure so much
as I drove towards the end
of the cul-de-sac and turned
around fast and reached
the stop sign.

I put my blinker on

broke left

and got the hell
away from that
zombie graveyard

some folks call

“suburban living.”
Thera Lance Jan 30
The Home Owners Association
Came by again today
With open glares at
The green crawling across my chestnut walls,
Blocking out my view of
Their pale tan plaster and
Baby blue curtains.

Fees clutched in hand
Eviction notices in their prayers,
They march up to a house,
Existing outside of their domain,
Bought by a grandfather
And never sold to no developer.

I watch with arms crossed
As they step past tomato plants
Whose fathers I planted with mine long ago.

Pleasantries exchanged
Mean nothing combined with
Cold eyes on me as
I politely tell them that their nobility
Has no jurisdiction.

Later when,
One let’s his dog dig up
Pieces of my lawn-less garden,
I stare from my curtain of leaves
At exposed roots,
The veins of a child’s loss reaching into air.

Tears will do no more than moisten the corners
As I walk outside
Camera in hand
Staring at a man
Who slowly droops
While shame dribbles back into his eyes.

Nothing is said,
Even when he turns and quietly walks away,
Leash held slack in hand
And dog loyally trailing behind.
A combination of fiction, news stories, and the real life daily dealings when confronting Surburbia.
Terry Jun 2018
Once or twice I look out my window
Hoping that hope will suffice
That this hopelessness will follow
The wind and be gone out of my sight
That I don't have to stretch my lips thin
And force a smile as a wife

As a wife.

With a loving husband and 2 kids
And my hopes and dreams buried beneath their feet.

In this miserable life.
6-20-18
Inspired by the movie Revolutionary Road
She was
nestled low
that seldom
a thief  
where her
package large
for Grant
Street's nighty
night kept
her glow
like an
ember there
before a
chair that
lifted sheer
her love
and drew
a bone
A love affair gone away
Danielle S Apr 2018
In the nausea of suburbia
There are
Houseguests, cigarettes, and having ***
in Corvettes

Headlights on the lake
Make me think of my mistakes
Who hasn’t been there before?

Small towns make b  i  g thoughts
How I wish I could understand
The roads I walk, every bit of gravel, every pothole, every turn of a corner

I saw a flash of white on the lake
Which was a crane, taking flight
I’m going insane

And sometimes
The grass is taller than me
Sometimes the water is deeper than what can be seen
Sometimes the sky seems too blue
To be true
And I wonder
Why I’m here and

So should you
BC Jaime Mar 2018
the cats do not purr
the dogs have fallen silent...
cell phone RINGS --its you!
© BC Jaime 2018 || IG: @B.C.Jaime

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/.
BC Jaime Mar 2018
starlight tumbles bright
winter leaves fall from the trees
the bear cannot sleep
© BC Jaime 2018 || IG: @B.C.Jaime

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/.
BC Jaime Mar 2018
crisp cold morning sun
giant squirrel searches the hill
...you are nowhere to be found

symphony of birds
gusts dancing with mimosa
...our bed is empty

ice plant in the shade
the tumbleweed immobile
...i wait, my darling
© BC Jaime 2018 || IG: @B.C.Jaime

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/.
BC Jaime Mar 2018
the blue moon aglow
endless stars on indigo
you and I apart
© BC Jaime 2018 || IG: @B.C.Jaime

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/.
BC Jaime Mar 2018
noon rays, biting breeze
honey bee meets dandelion...
buzz! buzz! nectar sweet!
© BC Jaime 2018 || IG: @B.C.Jaime

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/.
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