Rows of standing stones by a sacred place
Surrounded by rows of big wooden boxes.
Azalea-shrubbed foundation fronts
Swing sets, jungle gyms, inflatable pools
In posterior postage-stamp partitions.
Ready for a daily run,
Parked in driveways are cars
Only one more than ten years old
And in these boxes girt with fence,
Each one a promise partly filled
Each party partly enjoyed, yet always
Alive, noisy with tv unlike the silent stones
In every way save their starved souls.
Sometimes the ruse leaks out,
Mask cracks, some smile slips
As a gentle psyche snaps
It’s a shame what happened to Karen.
you’d think the middle child would take comfort here
Where deer do not dare to tread
But before the pavement grip is closed, fisted.
links and malls sop up what spare time’s allowed
Stores ache to fill a need they all deny exists
Until the standing stones catch up to them…
Centered on a teeter-totter
Remarkably oblivious to the
possibility Of balance.