Posts Tagged ‘suburbs’

The Great Disconnect

March 29, 2015

Down in de hood dhey don’t get it what honky be doin’

out in de wide lands where cream ‘o de crop be acruin’,

while out dhere where dhe green grass meet dhe smooth curb

dhey don’t get it what dem po’boys be doin’ to disturb

dhe status quo and de way t’ings are

cuz dhey don’t get the gravy but only smell it from afar.

You know the state of the country it aint right;

I say you too tight;

You say me too loose.

You act like engine, make me de caboose?

You even got a clue, man?

We gotta make a new plan if we can;

R u hearin’ me,

or r u fearin’ me?

Shit! now h’yah come do po’.

Even if I be friend, dey see me foe.


Peace and safety be upon them that work hard and do the drill

is what they say out in the wide lands filled with froth and frill,

while in the hood where the stoop step meet the street curb

hoods don’t get what honkys skim out suburb.

Out here they’re okay with the way things are;

they get the gravy; they drive the car.

They see the way things are as being all right,

and they’re comfy being a little uptight.

They don’t get loose,

aspiring to drive the engine, not ride caboose.

They have no clue, my friend,

preferring the same old plan, than to begin again.

They’re not hearing dhem,

but they are fearing “them.”

They say let the Po go–

let them search and seize the po’.


Now over in the Beltway everything is fine,

though talking heads strive to make events rhyme

by pontificating waltz in five-four times,

perpetually towing both Party lines,

keeping Libs on Left and Cons on Right:

maintaining constant Left-Right Fight.

Thou shalt not offend me! saith the Lib on the Entitled floor.

Thou shalt not tax me! saith the Con at Liberty’s door.

Occupy, Occupy! rings out the Activist refrain.

Fortify, Fortify! cries the Reactionary in our never-ending game.

Don’t destroy the middle class! and let them toke on grass!

You rob the middle class with tax! to let Elites sit on their ass!

Out! damned corporate ogres! the Left exhorts.

Oh quit your pout! retorts  the 1%, from their resorts.

Congress gets nothing done, because of you!

Government is the problem! Tippecanoe and TeaParty too.


Meanwhile all the masses come and go;

they twitter with glitter of the latest show.


Glass half-Full

Rockproof twits and tires that roll

December 31, 2011

(…with tentative apologies to T.S. Eliot) 

Let us drive, then, you and I

when the morning spills out from suburban sky,

let us drive and let us now commute

from suburban grass to urban loot.

Let us crawl on shrubbish cul-de-sacs

where networked souls run tribal tracks

to lead us to an underwhelming question:

Just don’t ask us why it is

that engines purr and tired wheels whiz

while red lights come and green lights go

twitting tweets of decaprio.


The gray exhaust that rubs its back

upon our concrete ribbon track

slithers down and wanders up

through traffic jam with coffee cup;

we measure out our days in pixel spoons

with idling fumes and idol tunes,

while texting out the urgent news

that paris is yearning, wall street  has a short fuse.

On the cells girls come, and women go

tweeting of bieber and decaprio.


And indeed there is time at the traffic light

before red turns green and tweet turns trite,

to wonder “Do I dare?” and “How’s my hair?”

To think of debts but not to care–

and would it have been worth it after all

to call my prince, so cute, so tall?

while johny boy in the middle lane

dreams of bustin out and raisin cane.

But they all grow old, and faces fold;

they shall eat their pastries rolled.


We have lingered in the intersections of the game,

with idling pipes and spirits lame;

we wait to crawl,  mutating paws

o’er ancient seas with neo-claws.

Throughout our sprawl and tyrannies of the urgent

lurk restless souls that stir, insurgent.

But we do grow old, we grow less bold;

we shall wear our courage rolled,

while on the freeways we come and go

dreaming of Jeanie and Michelangelo.

Glass Chimera