Day 22 - The Suburbs

I don't know where this comes from. I think I was listening to "The Suburbs" by Arcade Fire. And I wrote these first two lines and then thought they were stupid and then went to write a poem about a funeral which I got bored of and came back to these two lines. The whole poem was sort of a surprise and fun to write. But suddenly my trial version of Word ran out. And I couldn't type it.

So I rallied Aaron, "To the internet cafe! I need to renew Word!" And here we are. So I typed it here. It's definitely my humor. Tomorrow is my last day in Canada. If I have time or wherewithal, I'll post another poem or two today or tomorrow.


Everyone is the Same and Everyone Likes It

Sure, the suburbs are barnacling the Earth
I’m not saying they don’t.
It’s just that I lived okay,
safe in shadows of optimally placed trees,
biking down double sized avenues
to a friend in a house that looked
just like your house. And inside
a family that looked kind of like
your family. Comfort to open a door
into a familiar maze of living
walk the same amount of steps
from hall to den to stairs to
your not-room filled with better
toys and softer pillows but besides that
same and same, and you echoing
each other’s words about
your shared teacher and assignments
until one day your friend dies
unexpectedly and your family dies
too out of the blue, so you
could sit in his chair at his table
and could eat a consolation meal
just as good as you’re used to
and his parents ask,
“Billy, did you have a good day?”
And you say,
“My name’s not Billy.”
And they laugh and say,
“Couldn’t it be?”
And it could.