The suburbs

There's a house down this leafy street,

Smoke caressing the grey sky—

Neighbors gathering, stunned faces,

Gaping mouths, masked concern.

But I see myself in that girl,

Stuck on the first floor, glassy eyes,

Familiar faces, memories of small talk,

A smile, a look, a nod—a obliviousness.

Blissful for some, to be comfortably invisible.

What is a neighbor? I'll tell you now,

A low-maintenance friend, casual acquaintance—

A familiar face, a relaxed silence,

Passing each other for work—no words.

To give you your package, to talk about the weather,

A mutual exchange—a mutual need.

The house burns on this leafy street,

A smokeless fire that silently consumes me,

A false pretense that never reaches my tired eyes.

I'm suffocating in the smoke of my memories.