Who Are They?

　

Who Are They?

 

They lie to themselves and smile, pretending

to be happy with their driveway

full of fancy tire accessories.

 

Inside their house, the bare walls

are covered with tasteful art; the ground

holds up showroom furniture; the windows

reflect the brightest green

from a well-manicured lawn.

 

The place smells like a department store.

Even the closets are in order.

But something is missing.

 

Who are they?

 

They chew through life with shark's teeth,

demolishing everything they touch

because remnants are reminders.

 

They build walls of perfection to hide

the insecurities in themselves. They kill

each other with kindlessness

and distance.

 

Distance from everyone else.

Distance from each other.

Distance from reality.

 

Their phone rings constantly to no answer.

Their garage is always locked. But inside

the empty pizza boxes are stacked high

 

and their old lives - discolored furniture

and paintings they once loved - sit

underneath the cold, dusty blankets

they once kept warm with.

Reviews

[James E Keating]

where they once kept warm

[Courtney]

kill themselves with kindlessness

I LOVE this. I love it when people do a play on cliches. This is a good one Stephen.
So I guess your doing a poetry track for your MFA?