When I reach my home,

Which is surrounded by none other

Than the reach of woodland across the way,


I keep my eyes cast down

And ignore the long winding road

Which winds way down—straight to the horizon.


I don’t see any neighbors,

Just neighboring empty lots--

Because no one enjoys the suburbs.


With the dead yellow lawns

And miles-away-grocery stores

And the overall dead-tired atmosphere


With the awkward waving ‘hi’

And the insanely loud insomniac

Family living only a couple blocks away


Suburbia kind of stinks

Like the stink of that water tank

And I sort of wish we could move away.

This poem is about: 
My community


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