This Is Our Home

This Is Our Home

I don’t remember the first time I saw a homeless person
You can’t find one of those in Lexington, Massachusetts
Birthplace of the American Revolution
Red pavement without payment of litter,
Elegant boutiques, dainty planted trees
Cul-de-sacs curled around mansions
Little girls boys bright, bubbled futures – so few chills
For want is no friend to upper middle class glut
Fear does not feed on green pesticide-not-quite-grass
As dreams are blown from mouths like bubbles – fragile, wet, still steaming
Weightless they cling to skin, nesting, become another skin, home
My home
But if you can’t find a home here, then you have no home
This town is not for the homeless.

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