Sounds like the invasive drone of lawnmowers
Or the power-rush of a hose turned on a car
Soapy suds running in a river down the street
The black asphalt hot
The houses all the same
Uniformity equating respectability
The cars all parked in the spots
Garages all full of the deemed necessities
Of living in Suburbia
One tree for each house, some in bloom
Others simply leafed
Others bare
Backyards in squares, some with trampolines, like ours
Others, with shaded tents
Veggie boxes
Chairs and tables
(We can see them when we jump on the trampoline)
Often-
The smell of barbecue
And charcoal on the breeze
Walking by in the evenings,
Smelling dozens of dinners
Multicultural feast for the nostrils
Wishing we could be invited
Passing neighbors
Nodding and sometimes a smile
A wave, a “hello”
The one thing I really like from around here
Is that everyone is from different places
India, Pakistan, Iraq, Iran, Syria
Sudan, Ethiopia, Nigeria
Haiti, Jamaica, Trinidad, Tobago
A U.N. disguised in a development area
On the playground every few blocks, children venture out
Even though the equipment is still off bounds
The grass is now free again
It’s a small gift, but it means a lot
After “only walking through” was the rule
For 2 months, and it means, if nothing else
You can stand around and talk to people
Run into neighbors you sort of know
Again, and the kids and I-
We can fly kites
We can wave to their friends
They can run together
And I ran into a neighbor
With a dog that is a big fan of mine
They had a new puppy too
And I got to say hi to both of them
Get jumped on and licked
And although I washed my hands when I got home
I felt ok, more than ok, with it.
Funny how this poem started out a little dark and sad,
And in the end, it’s really about-
Connection,
And the necessity for public spaces
Places we can all be
Without having or needing a plan
Places for spontaneity
To just see each other, and talk, and be.
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