Poetry

Mayhem In Suburbia

It’s chaos
on my street,
neighbor kids
screaming
blood-curdling
screams
from their
trampoline,
garish
yellow-wheeled
ice cream truck
inching menacingly
past blasting
Pop
Goes
the
Weasel
at painful
decibels
the old fellow’s
a madman
holding the wheel
so relaxed,
expressionless
in the midst
of these facts –
doesn’t he know
the neighbor died
a few days ago?
And I don’t have
any cash.

5 replies »

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