Anthony Raffin ’15
A dense wooded forest,
long since forgotten, becomes
a stomping ground for Suburbia.
Perfect little houses,
lined up neatly along the streets;
streets that are desolate
of cracks or potholes.
Green lawns,
far greener than nature
ever intended.
SUV’s parked in that immaculate
driveway;
somehow there just for show.
A maze of streets,
that seem to never end.
A nice, respected school,
only a bike ride away.
Filtered television,
only the Liberal side;
Newspapers report,
There is no fighting
Days start to repeat,
you can predict the next move.
Houses become cells,
the neighborhood,
a prison.
Trying to escape, but you can’t
Leave,
that perfect little house
with all it’s perfectly selected
So you sit
in the backyard,
at the picnic table you don’t remember
buying.
With the friends you don’t like;
with a final concise breath,
You start to enjoy it.