Tonight's Poet Corner: An Ode to Suburbia
An Ode to Suburbia by Belinda Roddie At the bus stop across from the coffee shop and the McDonald's, I wait for the 101, and I count how many times I can see my breath when I exhale. Large, gray plumes trying to fly without a body. It's below fifty in March, and I'm not used to taking the bus these days. My fingers twitch at my sides, like they've been caught in an electrical current, zipping like a cable car. Destination: No man's land. How long has it been since I've seen a familiar face emerge from those blue and red patterned seats? For a city that seems so cozy with its formation, with its population, with its shtick of, "Hey, I remember you from high school - let's flood our senses with IPA and soggy fries and shoot the shit while bitching about Stephanie from Spanish class." But I don't see anyone from high school, or from any of my schools, for that matter. My hometown has a way of inviting ghosts to its reunions ...