Hey Suburbia

Deep hum of a low flying plane 

against an empty sky,

it's a lovely buzz 

seemingly only heard 

in the backyards of suburbs.

Houses with L shaped pools

2 car garages,

poster covered rooms 

and thumb tack pierced walls.

Quietly opened bedroom windows

let us out

and let in the night

straddling window panes

lit by moon rays and street lights

just to make it to the cul-de-sac.

Clandestine meetings with bad boys 

or girls

sneaking cigarettes 

while heavy handed vodka pours

provided fuel 

for miles 

of youthful mistakes.

Barefoot in a Smiths T-shirt

smelling of menthol smoke

summer night warmth

coming alive while the neighborhood slept.

We were naked in pools

that reflected the moon

crickets sang with the frogs.

we'd sing with them

interrupting their songs

until it was time 

for late night TV

beckoning with open arms

and strobe light shadows against living room walls

nothing  to do except

sleep until noon the next day.

I miss those days of irresponsibility and 

no responsibility

Youth is wasted on the dumb

Sometimes I'll hear that hum

of a low flying plane

and it takes me back.