Suburbus Corpus

Suburbus Corpus

My neighbors water the driveway,
and they always have the garbage
out on time.
Consistent adherence to
the writ of suburbus corpus–
manicured lawns attest
to real American pride,
and all night the T.V. flickers
through color-coordinated curtains;
Their cars are always clean.
I notice this in the morning;
I arrive like a coffee stain
on a postcard,
miss the driveway and run over dead grass,
A week’s worth of soggy papers
bleed newsprint into the sand;
like cerebral transfusions for the busy inhabitants
of the perfect mound-pocked lawn.

This mecca called suburbia
has trapped this errant child;
But rebellion still runs rampant,
so I’m never asked for tea,
or to sit on the porch and talk awhile
in dull complacency;
instead, I’m up at four a.m.
with scotch and M.T.V.;
the script was mass-produced
but somehow–
never got to me.

I would drive over their grass,
steal their papers
if I could…
But now I live in suburbia
and that means I must be good.


One thought on “Suburbus Corpus

  1. Pingback: Suburbus Corpus | Willow of the Wilde Wood

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