Suburbia Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Suburbia

Rating: 5.0


Now all the roads are empty,
All the ghosts have turned to salt:
I am only scarred on Fridays, but I wake up
Bright and clean for the weekend,
And all the domestic fights are like fireworks only
For holidays; and all the kids are groomed,
And only a few dogs have flees,
And lovers lie down like missionaries beside each other and they
Say forever after, surely, forever;
And he buys flowers for her from the local florist
To put into a vase,
And all the alligators are lethargic and harmless
And every home is almost 2,000 square feet;
And there is only one author and she writes romance
And there are three flight attendants.
The rest are all orthodontists or dermatologists;
And the are polite neighbors and just about everyone is
Asleep by ten,
But it is not affluent enough for lawyers,
But everyone is all-right- And the older children get drunk
And practice tramping instead of seventh period,
And some cheer leaders make love to football stars in
Their schoolgirl rooms that are as pink as the inside of a conch,
But not many;
And I want to move in here and live behind the white gate,
And bare children here and make it new and easy and right
For them. Maybe I will teach fifth grade, or at the worst
Work at Wal-mart, for it is the beginning of another
Great depression, but here is should be easiest and
Just as bright as Florida gets- And I will meet a pleasant girl,
And make love to her, and marry her. Maybe I will even fall
In love and buy her flowers. I will only be scarred on
Fridays, but will wake up bright and clean
And warmly suited in the lanai room- even if we are not
Affluent enough for our own pool;
It should be alright for my children and good enough to call home.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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