Green is overrated.
I prefer the boldness of concrete,
Brutal buildings cut by brutal streets,
The scrape of sturdy ground underfoot;
Everything you need within arm’s reach,
Coffee, regrets, cigarettes, and bleach;
Basement storeys far outnumbered by those up high,
Each one of us can buy our little slice of sky.
Phone lines and satellites
Carrying words and civil rights,
Stories and smiles,
New worries, new trials.
If you can’t stand the pain,
Just wait for the next train.
Try the town next door.
Though it won’t be long before
The world is just cities
And endless committees,
Cubicles and “World’s Best Dad” coffee mugs,
Mail-order beds and antibiotic-resistant bed bugs,
Asphalt, plastic, and stainless steel,
Manufactured until we forget what’s real.
But who cares if nothing is what it seems
— doesn’t that mean we’re living the dream?