The Sound Of LawnMowers
Neat houses sit side by side
In their neat lines.
The gardens tidy.
Cars gleaming in the summertime.
The sound of lawnmowers
They seem to
Represent these tidy lives.
For all the neatness
Hides the chaos
There is a reason a front door
Has frosted glass.
Nobody gets to see inside
Not even the occupants
They do not want to be reminded
They try to ignore
For behind the perfect cut grass
Is a sham of a life.
A glass of wine
Never seems to empty
Only appears to be
Just the one
A beer bottle
Always in hand
Behind in the back garden
The blue bin hides many secrets.
The perfect lawn.
The more things they
Bought in pursuit
Of what they thought
They should have
The more their happiness crumbled away.
Not much point having
If you are not comfortable in the life
You sit upon.
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Comments about this poem (The Sound Of LawnMowers by Denver Gabriel )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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