No Matter How Mundane
"The houses all look the same." I said;
all the perfect lawns were brown with lack of rain.
Even the trees in the lane were identical,
each limb and leaf equally symmetrical.
He looked at me and smiled grimly.
"You'll get used to it." he said quite simply.
Duplicate rows of houses too aloof to be called homes,
duplicate faces, too distant to get to know.
Yet the summer waxed and waned
and nights did come can go, but still they looked the same.
I pleaded, "Say anything, no matter how mundane."
He said, "Those clouds look an awful lot like rain."