Perfect
Black picket fences, ten miles high
Baby blue birds sing funeral goodbyes
Cracked manicures, reaching through gaps
Grasping at weeds that were never cut back
Plush grassy green, yellowed sports car
Diamonds and rubies and gold from afar
Pearls on hipbones, pearls on wrists
Sand on their tongues and gravelly lips
Wedding cake prisons, taffeta chains
Glossy magazine faces hide from the pain
I stand in the woods, away from it all
And quietly witness suburbia’s fall