Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Suburban Exile

My neighbors do not wish to be seen.
They have made it clear they prefer their lives mysterious
They drive hours and hours down paved parking lots
In giant cars that drink gasoline straight from the earth.

They go to their jobs in transparent buildings
Moving imaginary money from one place to another
From before light to after dark
While their invisible children attend
The finest schools their property taxes can provide.

The streets are deserted.
The yards are echoing and bare.

This ought not to surprise me as much as it does.
I ought to know by now
When people look out the bay windows
Of their million dollar homes
What they want to see is nothing but
Well manicured lawns from sea to shining sea.