No 1: SUBURBIAN EXISTENCE

PHOTO BY CHLOE PALAGONIA

CHLOE PALAGONIA

Colonial home, a Victorian looming,

Raised ranch, Cape Cod style. 
Bikes strewn across yards with a child’s ease. 

Christmas decorations still up in January.

Lights flicker on at dusk, blinds neglected.

Doors stay unlocked,

Parents guard from windows.

Rumors are shared, people excluded. 

This town is everything, 

A remarkable meaninglessness.

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The three car garage fits one if you’re lucky. 

Childhood resides in a mountain of boxes.

Memories linger, they circle each room. 

Lacrosse, football, baseball paraphernalia. 

Blockbuster films and chain stores.

Drive-in fast food, school colors. 

Red lights to check directions. 

Midnight drives with friends, the encroachment of boredom. 

Minimum wage, 15 minute breaks. 

Unceasing crushes on coworkers. 

Cashier, waitress, babysitter. 

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Summer is intermission.

Faces at the beach you wish to avoid. 

Meticulously planned tanning sessions. 

The wail of the ice cream truck, children frantic and starved.

Drifting apart and drifting together. 

Your first drink, smoke, kiss. 

The first time someone made you feel bad about yourself. 

And the first time you fantasized about escaping. 

It’s always there when you come back, but never the same. 

This time you have an out.