By Mike Stevens
Standing on the front porch of their cookie-cutter homes,
Interchangeable people with 2.5 kids and 2.5 cars
Everything is exactly the same; row upon row, mile upon mile
Sodded lawns of exactly 10 feet square,
Crammed between houses like an afterthought
And the houses, with personalities of stone
Mini vans parked on the street out front,
Wait to wisk mommy and daddy away to glass cages,
Where they’ll join robotic others pushing paper
Lunch at an overpriced, overcrowded place
Fakers wearing an expensive suit and tie
Nothing ever changes in their make-believe world
They’re just a number, no differences stand out
Marching to automated orders from who-knows where?
Get up in the morning, they’re on auto-pilot
Turn off their spouse, kiss the big-screen goodbye
Join the other robots on the road; every morning exactly the same
Is it Tuesday or Thursday, nothing to let them know
8 hours later and another nightmare commute home,
And for what? So tomorrow they can do exactly the same again?
© Copyright 2017 Mike Stevens. All rights reserved.
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