Shannon and I
took a wrong turn
off the middle-path,
and found ourselves
outside our comfort zone.
The sign said,
“Welcome to the City of Hyperbole,
At our side were so many traffic cones,
workers were expanding the road
from one lane to four.
When Shannon asked,
They told her “tourists keep rubbernecking to read the plaques.”
Every house displayed their own personal braggadocio,
The things about themselves they wanted everyone to know,
The first one on the right,
Had a sign out front that read,
“The world’s humblest home, made of the finest red brick,”
It seemed cozy enough.
The one across the way said,
“A lawn to rival Elysium,”
It was obsessively manicured,
but no more so than the others for sure.
We came upon the town square,
Sky scrapers, fountains and memorials,
Commemorating the founders,
The newspapers were filled with highly-biased editorials.
“This place is creepy,”
Shannon said under her breath,
The bystanders sitting on benches, walking by and paying no mind
In short order, went from sleepy,
We were maligned,
One woman shouted “watch what you say,”
A man with turtle-shell sunglasses screamed, “that’s the ugliest car I’ve ever seen,”
“This town is the only place I’ve ever found peace,”
“City, you mean,” one pedant corrected the other.
The amorphous crowd,
Piece by piece,
Brother by brother,
While we made a quick get away.