Matt McDonald | There’s a Light in Suburbia

Any-street, USA:

Acre-lots, lawn-lovers,

Pavement.

The neighborhood party —

“I guess we’ll go for a bit…”

 

It’s all right;

But after forced chuckles,

And feigned interest,

Have gone to bed,

A light still glows in Suburbia.

 

Pebbles crunch under tires

Tangled vegetation, vibrant colors,

Shadows in the dark.

Keep your riding mower;

Here, priorities.

 

Welcome

To the slow-down,

To the kick-back,

To the have-a-drink —

Frosted, salted,

Meticulous.

Savor the elixir;

The potions master knows desire.

 

Share. Laugh —

Over scrumptious repasts

And candlelight.

As leaves fall,

As breath freezes,

As trees shimmer,

As midnight unveils,

As you track mud from the thawing earth.

 

Welcome

To the remember,

To the look-ahead,

To the now —

This snapshot,

A spec on life’s timeline,

Features a humble king and queen:

Never unappreciated.

 

The light that never falters,

Shines on opportunities rising,

On stories retold,

On memories to be made,

On the inevitability of time,

On a perfect world —

Even as it crumbles in the shadows.

 

True,

Some feelings are never explained —

Restrained by words,

Preserved by individuality.

But where the light glows in Suburbia,

Sanity cherishes silence.

 

Threatened by humanity,

Or moved by the flow of life,

With one more year,

One more drink,

One more song,

One more meal,

One more story,

The light will never go out.

So I raise a glass to being home.

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