New Suburb Blues
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.
Nice piece, the message is clear.
I've been locked out of my email for months. The library computers say to give the answer to my Security Question. When I do, it says Security Questions are no longer used.

The word duds can also be read as dugs. Either way. Both/And

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