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.
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