Domestic vs. Wild

Just - twenty feet divides
lares and penates
two worlds apart.

Suburban perfection,
eastward protected from wind,
intense in cultivation
with arboretum standards,
the madness of minutiae,
bedded black-skirted flowers,
sheared grass all around.
Devotees to exterior detail.
A garage of useful machines
bedded down beside air-conditioned
comfort and irrelevance of natural air.
Restraint behind closed doors.
Appearance of modern dwellers within.

Rural madness across the road
buffeted by western howls
that strip leaves and flip flowers
down branches, blow unneighborly leaves
to wear patience thin. Inherited
ancient, humpy farmland,
useless topsoil of rock and clay,
bivouac for weeds and wild upstarts
a continual workload under the sky.
Indoors, minds immersed in books,
souls consigned to reflected perfection
consistency shunned out of necessity,
decorations consigned to understatement,
resignation opening windows
each new, old-fashioned day.

Four adults’ live two worlds apart.
America, of thee I sing.