Help help you yelp a bit
the diamond glove will never fit
the shine of superficial sky
the snake to charm is the gardening kind
King Me Queen Me they would claim
for checkers was their only game
making money just to claim
that fame itself is the new game
but bored games break and they were pawns
to the wholesome hearts that mowed the lawn
for the workers loved and the workers knew
that in their small homes, a better garden grew.
(i wonder if you've ever been tested for savantism. You respond in poems so well. You may be just exceptionally talented at on the spot poetry, which is more of an accomplishment. Mine probably happened when i fell on my head down a concrete stairwell. but if you literally just think this internally, like you think poetry, you might want to get that checked out. I project that a lot though. I guess that more than it is true.)
I like the message of this, I like the concept and I agree with both. The mansion being as neat as a pin had me scratching my head for more than one reason, but I think this poem is better than the comments you have received thus far suggest.
I'd say this is a bit of a satire. A very good one though. Unfortunately, I've nothing more to say, except that I agree. So this is simply me rambling so that the site will let me leave you this lovely comment. Ta-ta!
Thought I'd visit some of my favorite elite poets very first posts, just out of curiosity.
I kind of liked this one myself. The woman has the exact average American everything. All is exactly as it should be, even down to that half a kid. But woe be to the soccer mom who dares to scratch below the surface, or God forbid, close her eyes.
As for me, I'm still chasing that dream, sadly enough. My house isn't quite middle class mansion, and it sure hasn't reached pin status in the neatness category, and I only have 2.0 kids, who are fairly wholesome but not always good. And the values are never as cut and dried as we'd like them to be, are they? So you see, your poem hit me right between the eyes!