where have all the children gone

HOUSE
SWEET
HOUSE

The home that was,
Is now a house,
Empty with
A so-called spouse.

Filled with things,
Americans dream.
A sybaritic-sterile
Theme.

Walls all white
No finger smudge,
Of course good neighbors
Do not judge.

All are glad
Their seed they spray
Upon the dirt
In early May…

So by mid-June
All lawns are green,
On street where child’s
Not heard nor seen.