Perfect

Black picket fences, ten miles high

Baby blue birds sing funeral goodbyes

Cracked manicures, reaching through gaps

Grasping at weeds that were never cut back

Plush grassy green, yellowed sports car

Diamonds and rubies and gold from afar

Pearls on hipbones, pearls on wrists

Sand on their tongues and gravelly lips

Wedding cake prisons, taffeta chains

Glossy magazine faces hide from the pain

I stand in the woods, away from it all

And quietly witness suburbia’s fall