Stalled performance & she notices
the hoarse noise that ropes around
the engine. Slight vibration’ n the stillness
between soundproof windows & oversized lawns.
Fretful fingertips drumming her hand reaching in
the glove compartment. Smartphone. - overdue oil change
that kind of stuff that troubles the Suburbanite.
Swift rounding moves and she’s turning the wheels.
Into traffic, fluorescent lights & humming.
Glittering clouds immerse the highways, the city;
into the space hungry vehicles’ surroundings
you vanish ’n alikeness– a car among million other
amorphous outfits figureless beyond tinted windows
the kind of stuff that doesn't trouble the Suburbanite.
Pedestrian silhouettes, urban coquettes’re forgotten
like those obsolete costumed parades with cape
& panache from college.
Your children grow unaware of
the compactness of cities the overwhelming presence of people every street corner
the unity of farmers as contrast to the vastness of crop-fields
Does this even trouble your kind Suburbanite?
For you built on a base-ment dis-loyal to the concept
beyond the social artifact. You did topple ancient topologies
in an attempt to squeeze out those you labeled as untouchables
and it did not seem to trouble you much Suburbanite.
the wordle prompt :
12 comments:
Oh, yes the Suburbanite.
A story well told. Happy holidays.
Pamela
Happy holy days to you
and a very merry new year..:P
Very evocative and reminded me, somewhat, of the Dead Man poems from last week. Intriguing, isn't it, to tie the two together....
Suburbanite & Dead Men.
^giggles^
Thank you for taking the extra time to link your poem.
http://juliejordanscott.typepad.com/jjspoetry/2010/12/danglingchairs.html
I know exactly what you mean... great piece!
www.lkarris-kolp.blogspot.com
Something echoes in the suburbanite's valley.
Pamela,
many thanks :)happy new year...
Dhyan,
With that much merriment and 2011 will be a party year…
Julie,
It is a common experience after all…(mine is a tribute to my recent public transportation advocacy work, tho)
Laurie,
thanks. And welcome to this blog
Deb
but you do live in Portland which is not that bad (I heard )
Here I am in a small coastal town surrounded by nothing but the roar of the wind coming off the water, and if I walked out now, at five o'clock on a snowy Sunday evening I wouldn't see a single soul. Very far from either of the worlds - urban or suburban, you evoke, but I can feel them both. An impressive use of the prompts - they 'rope around' the verse, communicating as effectively as that noise in the engine.
Thanks for following Secret Poems.
Thank you, Mairi –I certainly tried.
A coastal (fisherman’s) town has its own social structure I assume , an unique sense of community.
It is not about being in a crowd or not, but about the ways we interact with each other .
Excellent poem, Ana. What it says is right on. I also enjoyed the rhythm and flow. I'd love to hear you read it.
I'm not a suburb person, but when I see them, I feel the same things I felt while reading your poem.
Julie,
Eh – the rhythm , I tried. It is a classic form ( French ballade) but I tried to make it a fit with the free verse approach.
I am glad you did like it. And – it was you and your poems that inspired the line :
“the unity of farmers as contrast to the vastness of crop-fields” (or that of fisherman as contrast to the vastness of sea) as I know little about rural areas. I used to be more of the urban kind myself, and I am afraid that I am becoming a suburbanite now…
i won't worry about this until i saw you as a single driver in a big SUV :)
You know what they say, never say never, but ...:)
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