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.