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.