The Suburbs

Amidst the flurry of green vegetation, bricks and siding,
Are shiny, expensive automobiles gliding smoothly
Over pavement lacking potholes, past pedestrians
Who walk safely under eternally lit streetlights,
On sidewalks with no cracks,
That form right angles, and circles,
Where teachers, policemen, and engineers dwell.
Laws are always abided, and taxes are always paid
In houses with blends of perfection that are entirely imperfect.

There is a reluctance to accept the inevitability
That floats through the air and afflicts all it encounters.
It spreads through the seeds of the land
Rendering them naive to the force of life,
Flowing strongly and surely through their veins.
As "things fall apart and the centre cannot hold*",
A beat bursts through the silence, piercing the eardrum,
Rendering it deaf to all parental sounds from long ago.

Life has forced its way in, and is forever here to stay,
Only to some, an acquaintance worth keeping,
And to others, a fool not worth their company.
It is an affliction that doesn't discriminate,
A shade that exists in many forms in many places,
And is just as omniscient as its creator,
For just as joy lives in the hearts of the Poor,
Tragedy, too, can strike in the Suburbs...
-Akeem Lawrence, 5/4/08


*From William Butler Yeats’s 1920 poem, "The Second Coming"