Slowly Dying Here in the Suburbs

by Melanie Browne

slowly dying
here in the
suburbs,
my heart
beats a little
slower every
day, no sky
to look at,
only people
trimming
the hedges,
or walking
dogs on
designer leashes,
I am surely
rotting here
in the suburbs,
the olive at the
bottom of
my martini
just grew mold,
somebody call
Sinatra, you
can find me at
the end of my
rope-ville,
baking cookies
in an endless rain

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2 Responses to Slowly Dying Here in the Suburbs

  1. Nice poem, good ending.

  2. Maureen Kingston says:

    “the end of my/ rope-ville”: brilliant in a small package.

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