Keeping Up with the Joneses

Neighboring eyes
hooded with suspicion
follow the zigzag
of the lawn mower.

Nobody’s grass
is so lovely
as the Jones’
in the middle of winter.

By God, the residents swore,
their lawn was watered
by the proud tears of the
homeowners’ association president.

The grass was greener
because they buried
their secrets
beneath the turf,

Their nitrogen encapsulated,
silent cadavers
feeding soil the sweet
feast of decay.

Rotting flesh
of their lies
make the perfect
fertilizing concoction.

The elderly lady
living across the street
often begs for gardening tips
to grow tulips so red.

Just three feet below
their flowering roots
are the festering remains
of the people who they pretend to be.

Reviews

[Spencer Barker]

Wow! Devon, this is an interesting perspective and certainly one that achieves in making your writing enjoyable. You instill some very nice imagery, even if it is murderous. Excellent!

-Spencer