05-05-2021, 11:13 PM
New Suburb Blues
You always know when spring begins,
each day you wake to sounds of bulldozers and chainsaws.
The glory of the garden is in bloom;
let's rip the duds before someone comes to like it.
Efflorescence doesn't flow,
it sits and waits its turn
to be torn down, a house without a homeowner
is obscure as a tree in a new yard.
One doesn't want a yard, but
for there to be woods.
Not a hermit exactly. But a yard is the thing.
It's like being in the city.
You always know when spring begins,
each day you wake to sounds of bulldozers and chainsaws.
The glory of the garden is in bloom;
let's rip the duds before someone comes to like it.
Efflorescence doesn't flow,
it sits and waits its turn
to be torn down, a house without a homeowner
is obscure as a tree in a new yard.
One doesn't want a yard, but
for there to be woods.
Not a hermit exactly. But a yard is the thing.
It's like being in the city.
