Slowly Dying Here in the Suburbs

by Melanie Browne

slowly dying
here in the
my heart
beats a little
slower every
day, no sky
to look at,
only people
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
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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