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Suburbia
by Uriel Tovar
Suburbia
I. Birth By Water
The flood was necessary
Merciless washing machine of a capricious god
Add the tide
Hold the bleach—
Wash
Rinse
And spin
Here we go round the prickly pear
Clinging to the walls
Like bug on windshield
Only cleaner
And after this our baptism
We are strung and hung out
To dry on this line
Sun bleached
And weather beaten
Forgotten
Left to tatter in the
Arid winds of this wasteland
Forgotten in this
Moisture less land
Forgotten
II. A Grave Without a Coffin
Ding
Step
Step
Ding
Step
Step
Us marching to the steady beat
Of the teller line
Only not as fast
Caught in the tangle of our own monetary
Constraints
But the adverse advertisement keeps us
Entertained enough
To forget how fast seconds turn
Into minutes and minutes
To a dance of
Ding
Step
Step
Ding
Step
Step
In our hands
We hold our worth
The bare minimum to survive
Because we are to eat cake
Without any bakers left to fabricate
Roscón from what little
We can find in
Our gardens
And what of this cake
This relic of a world we once
Knew
But still hear of
In fantastic tales
From those who remember
The ‘good ole days’
In their monochrome haired heads
Their paper thin skin
Holding what little
Of their essence is left
Here on this once vibrant rock.
Thank you for your patience
And always with a smile
I’ll be glad to help with that
But only if the conversation is trite
Would that complete your transaction
If only it would complete me
I hope you have a wonderful day
Wonder
If I had time for wonder
The deposit would be a secondary concern
The past due bills would instead be stories
Odes or
Epic poems
Piling up on my kitchen table
And the table would serve its purpose
A place for the family to dine
III. In Our Dens
Let us shuffle off this coil
And return to the comfort
Of our red rock
--A home we so seldom know
A sedative murmuring glow
Emanating from
Our only source of
Release
Let us wear the robes
Of our dwelling
A white
Sleeveless shirt
And plaid short pant undergarments
Adorned by corn chip crumbs
Fresh from foiled bags.
And in our dreamless slumber
Let us awaken to
Our own suffocating screams
Dripping from the sides of
Speechless lips
Ain’t it the truth
The only world we know
And here it is wrapped in a sparkly
Red
Bow
All for me to have
Ain’t it the truth
And in our waking
What a surprise awaits--
The realization that
Our wishes have come to fruition.
And here it is
What you’ve been waiting for
A portal to all your acquaintances
Right in the palm of your hand
Know what they’re thinking
See what they’re feeling
Feel who they’re sleeping with
But even with this
We couldn’t be further from them
After all
Here is only
A perfect doll of ourselves
Always the marionette
Never the master
And with the strings we
Disconnect
Giving up the pedal and the wheel
Comfortable and content
On the couch in front of a glowing screen
Under the shadow of our red rock
IV. A Pillow for Our Heads
We spend this time at home
Near cacti and tumbleweed
Preparing for rain
As if it were a drizzle
Ponchos become laced parasols
And galoshes, huarache sandals.
There’s no better time than now to spend
On our lawn chairs
With no storm on the horizon
Our colors here are
Orange and red
Under the pall of a purple sky
With specs of green
Scarcely scattered
This sky should be reminder
Of something else to come
But do we wait
For dawn
Or dusk?
With no storm on the horizon
Very little worries us
And we spend this time
Admiring the landscape
Living in the now
Because the present
Has always had
The sweetest taste
And our appetites are wet
But do they crave
Dinner in the evening
Or breakfast in the morning
And after our day is done
We crawl back
Under the shadow of our red rock
Slide onto our pillow topped mattresses
Pull the covers over our heads
And close our eyes
06/29/2012 Author's Note: please leave comments. could use the feedback. thanks.
Posted on 06/29/2012
Copyright © 2025 Uriel Tovar
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 07/02/12 at 10:44 PM God, this makes work like mine seem so small by comparison. A powerful, intensely fascinating piece of writing, sir. |
| Posted by Jim Benz on 07/17/12 at 03:38 PM Per your request for constructive feedback: I'd continue editing line by line, from beginning to end, repeatedly, in an effort to ease some of the abrupt transitions. But I wouldn't make it too smooth, or lose too much of the fragmentary character of what you've already written. Just find a way to accentuate its greater strengths. Perhaps find ways to refer back and forth between disparate parts of the poem by repeating certain words or phrases--making use of different contexts, with different allusions--as a means of tying it together in odd ways that aren't immediately apparent or meaningful but give a stong hint of being so. In other words, strengthen the underlying logic that gave shape to your poem in playful ways that not only sharpen its use of language but also stimulate the curiosity and/or active involvement of your reader. But do this consistent with the style you've already developed for the poem--play with the reader's focus on different parts by working to further shape how the poem directs that focus, sharpening up connections (or quasi-connections) you've already established. Or using misdirection to set up some unexpected reactions. Lots of potential here Urial, and it could be a lot of fun to edit. Or it could be a chore, but I think it would be worth the effort. |
| Posted by V. Blake on 11/13/12 at 09:08 PM "Merciless washing machine of a capricious god." Damn. That's as far as I've read so far but felt compelled to say that first. Going back to the poem now.
Alright, now I've finished. There are a lot of individual lines in this that I like, and entire stanzas that come together very well, but I couldn't help but feel like a lot of this came off as preachy rather than observational. Parts like "If only it would complete me" and "But do we wait/ For dawn / Or dusk?" just felt really awkward to me. I could compare much of this to watching a dancer, but at times like this, it feels like I just watched her trip and fall.
I also think this poem might be just a little bit too long for its own good. Much of this is elegant and well-put-together, but in a number of parts (Like those mentioned above), I feel like you could just cut lines out completely and the overall poem wouldn't miss them.
If you ask me (And, you did), there is a lot of potential here, but the overall effect this poem had on me was one of "HERE IS HOW YOU SHOULD FEEL" rather than "And how do you feel now?" |
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