Sonnet #330

A car punched through a fence nearby

Along a road I often walk, the houses jut

With backs turned fenced high at street, abut

Against commuters and school zones why

I think the way these houses turn away

From the city, how they hide from cars

How the cars are ugly neighbors, jar

The peace of night with roars of urgency

How they claim to be fine, I’m fine, everything

Is fine and then they swerve like brutes and clobber

The fallen lumber is like clothing ripped, torn jeans

The back of home exposed where brutes can slobber

At the tangerine tree full of jewels just beyond the wall

A rip, a tear, just one passing car and all the fruit will fall.