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85 and off the ladder

picking leaves from the gutter

Wife soon after

They found her dentures

on the kitchen tile

A few weeks later the neighbor

still in her sunhat and green gloves

hose running in her hand

Felled by a bee hiding in her marigolds.

Then her dog,

Went to live with someone else

But wouldn’t eat.

Wasn’t long before the flowers went too.

Eaten up in the dried, cracked soil.

The houses went up for sale

Little signs sitting innocently

In the front lawns:

“So & So Realty”

Pretty soon

some lovely young couples moved in

Had children

Bought a dog

Cleaned gutters

Planted more marigolds

Watched the rain run down

The window

And the reaper grinned

A little More than usual.
Juhlhaus May 2
Gravel mounds in the mist
Are the mountain ranges of fantasy,
Spring green, eerie seen
Through commuter train windows.

Pitched roofs recede
Into infinite distance,
And junkyard parking lots are legion
In the gray suburban obscurity.

Factories and landfills loom,
Monuments and masoleums,
The labor and the leavings
Of Earth's little colossi.
Musing on the view from a morning commuter train.
Kieran Messer Apr 15
This motorway circles
Back to where I begin:
The nowhere concrete jungle
Of copy-paste homes;
Copy-paste shopping centres
With copy-paste shops;
Where opportunity won't arrive
Until I somehow leave.
Juhlhaus Jan 15
I hurried out at six fifteen to wait
For a train with a waning moon,
Bright Venus and Jupiter hovering
Above the skyline. The amber horizon
Turned to orange and pink
As scattered stars went dim.

Misread the schedule and arrived
Downtown three quarters of an hour
Before my Electric District connection.
An accidental gift to self. I ascended
And ate two breakfast sandwiches
I got for one dollar with a coupon,
Warm in my hands on a blue picnic table.

The sky grew light
Above the Lake and I wandered
Through Millennium Park. It was empty
Or nearly, which felt the same.
The sun broke the bent horizon
In chrome and ice. I took some pictures,
Then descended to find Track Five.

The day's light revealed
Hollow houses with cartoon stone applied
Like paint, unable to compete
For preeminence with two-car garages.
The newest were bigger and offered
In different colors, but all the same.
Driving conditions were excellent.

At sunset I stood on another platform
Above a busy highway. The last rays came
Through tree branches and melted
Into the pale sky as they left my face.
I had witnessed that sun's birth,
It had warmed me while I waited for my carpool,
Rested with me on a concrete planter after lunch.

I entered the city in darkness
A second time. Changed muddy boots
For clean shoes and hurried to the museum.
It was a free night, overcrowded
With families and children, so difficult
To find a quiet corner for contemplation,
Any sanctuary for my own small soul.

I descended, discovered the typewriters, then
Realized you and I were already there, just
In different colors, using different words,
Spending school vacation to view old paintings
And the Holiday Miniature Rooms.
It dawned and the future was brighter even
As I left the city in darkness.
For a wonderful fellow poet who reminds me that there is no such thing as an ordinary day.
Ron Gavalik May 2018
The problem with people-watching
in the middling suburbs outside Pittsburgh,
is everyone looks like they’re related,
a little too similar, bad photocopies
of the same dull morality.
The girls have similar haircuts
and the boys wear similar shorts.
The men and women,
they cannot stomach the ‘F’ word,
but they adore efficient order
enforced through totalitarian violence.
Chemical air fresheners are pumped
through department store ventilation systems.
Perhaps the compound is designed
to induce complacency for the status quo
and suppress everyone's style
or sense of fashion.
Get more.
Ashley Moor May 2018
4 days in the suburbs
everything I utter
has the same cough
every itch
remains hidden
there is this thought
stuck in a glass jar.
these days
an image of her eyes
and 25 dollars
can make me run faster
than any automobile
but no one here runs anywhere.
what is that song
I used to listen to —
the one about stillness?
It exists here
on a slow suburban morning.
clever Apr 2018
We climb power lines and play Titanic.
We go to parties, but only for the free food.
We sneak out to people watch at Walmart.
We're the whirlwind couple everyone dreams about.
We're what they don't show in movies.
AvengingPoet Mar 2018
New York, I won’t come home
Not even if you call
This arcade is on fire
And I laugh and laugh

The blistering cold winters
That took away my soul
In this suburban hell hole
Filled with computerized cynics.

Please don't even call
I won’t pick it up
I never answer the phone anyhow
Why would this be any different?

It surely won’t be.
It surely won’t be.

New York, I won’t come home.
AvengingPoet Mar 2018
My love for this girl
Oh, it is all I have
To take me away from this hellish hometown
To start somewhere new where constraints won’t fail me

Where the air is a bit warmer
And where people maybe even care, a little bit
All I ask for is a little bit
A half-light

The ocean is collapsing in on me in this hometown of mine
The ocean is expanding anywhere that isn’t this hometown
This ******* hometown
Maybe all I want is anything but this

Is that good enough?
Will I bloom?
Will the tortured memories of the past drag me down?
**** they migh-

**** my hometown.
AvengingPoet Mar 2018
At least I had my books
They were never enough
And that was the deepest problem of them all
Only liars will tell you they don’t need anyone

My parents and their love of hating everyone
And their superiority to everyone else in this hometown
But everyone in this suburb thinks they’re better than everyone else
And I suppose that’s the greatest joke of them all

I took a walk on this dark, cold March evening
Along the sidewalks of the neighborhood I barely felt I could recognize
It felt like walking without a thought in my head
It drained my brain instantaneously

All I can think is how I need to get away
The evils of this school break
I don’t want to be cruel
Oh, but I have my lov-
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