Suburbia

by Heather Nicaise

Silver-threaded platinum clouds are moving in.

The polished copper sun sinks into velvet

leaving us fumbling for light switches.

The breeze tastes acorn bitter.

The sugar-sweet smell of rain tantalizes

a sensitive nose. The sky is dimming;

someone has put gauze over our eyes.

Lights in windows flicker on and off like fireflies.

The trees have shape now.

Each branch, each leaf, each bough, each needle

exist now more than they did before.

Mushroom sprinklers are unpopped

hoses are coiled like sleeping rattlesnakes.

Even at dusk, the green lawns glow

though they could be reduced to brown

overnight, summoning the coroner

who no one wants to see arrive.

Back to the Table of Contents

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Issue 7, Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s