I wrote this poem as I was thinking about the asshole down the street who called the city on us because he didn’t like how our yard looked. This happened a couple of years ago but every single time I see him, I want to spit at his car.
Upper Middle Class Suburbia Infected
In a perfectly boring, cookie cutter
upper middle class neighborhood, filled with
manicured lawns, manicured wives and spanking new SUV’s,
we are like infected sores.
We ooze our perfectly placed facade
of upper middle class white trash puss
down our driveway and into the street.
Right in the middle of the neighborhood.
A husband.
On his way home,
where dinner and his wife sit ready and waiting,
he notices.
He turns up his nose and swerves his sedan
to avoid getting touched and dirty
by the neighborhoods infection.
He gags a little into his white hanky.
Shaking his cuffed fist
through the slightly tinted window
in disgust and exasperation
he pulls into his own perfectly tarred driveway.
Avoiding his fat wife’s kiss
and shushing her attack of
“how was your day”,
he calls the city.
He needs to reports the dump
that is piling up in the middle
of their perfectly kept
upper middle class suburbia.
While my children scream in our backyard,
loudly, as the jump, dive and splash
in the American Dream Pool.
Noise. Chaos. Spread and echo
off the water.
Disrupting the quiet dinnertime peace
of the boring upper middle class
suburban neighborhood.
Giving more strength and resolve
in his voice that demands
the city to clean the trash.
Immediately, if not sooner.
Ruining his appetite for his wife
and the homemade chicken pot pie.
So he called the city on you because you didn’t mow your yard? Did that make you mow it? LOL It wouldn’t have worked with us. But then my husband is obsessive about mowing the yard so they would have to call on us for something else. Like noise.
.-= Jennifer´s last blog ..I need a makeover. =-.
no, he actually called because of a bunch of kids outdoor toys that we have at the side of our house. he didn’t like them. but it’s the only place we have to put them because our backyard is an inground pool.
Love this! I’m a sucker for a good free-verse poem.
.-= TeacherMommy´s last blog ..I Think It Should Be More Than One Week A Year, But At Least There’s SOMETHING! =-.
What an ass. I would walk my dog over to his perfecting manicured lawn and let it take a big dump on his front step. I am vindictive like that.
I would hate to see what he would have to say about my backyard/back deck. It is ‘littered’ with toys and play stuff. And, the noise – oh my. Let’s just not go there.
Really, thought, great poem. It made sense to me – where as most poems I get lost, get to the end, and am completely dumbfounded.
.-= HaB´s last blog ..M is for…. =-.
lovely. A lovely poem about a lovely man in a lovely neighborhood. You should go make polite conversation with him. About the weather. Or about how you’re pretty sure he’s going straight to hell. Not that we Jews believe in that, but maybe it’d shake him up. Or at least make you laugh. Fucker. (him. not you.)
.-= Kami´s last blog ..(Not So) Dear Mirena, =-.
hahaha! Awesome!!! I totally know this kind of guy…it’s our next door neighbor. I am sharing this with my husband. It will be therapeutic for him 😉
.-= Anne´s last blog ..Two Quick Stories =-.
That is exactly why I don’t live in the manicured suburbs.
.-= MomZombie´s last blog ..Gym-nasties =-.