Upon the blacktop street
with steam rising slightly
from each drummed raindrop
I stood - at the epicenter
of Suburbia,
and I stopped
my breath
with a word
too large
to fit up the narrow pipe
that rose erect, plastic, perfect
though the particle-board corridor
of my neck.
The transient ghosts who came and went
in streaks of blue and silver-gleam
always carefully following
the yellow-dashed line -
they rubbernecked endlessly,
fleshlessly, oh so disney-happily.
And the rain began to overflow
because it would not drain
because I could not know
a way to let go
of the word suburbia
would not let rise or sink
in my throat.
It pooled about my feet
and the yellow jackets
having fininshed weaving their attic nests
each came and filled his heaving thorax
with a drink.
