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Home Cosmopolitan suburbs take shape Form, not far from the metropolis Streets bustle, enlist design, become cities Drawn down the street, concrete solid Buildings line up one by one In the calm one structure at a time evolves There on the outskirts of timid town Rising from the dirt, from nothing A flirt with creation on the street Laid down on asphalt beds, no secrets Familiar as a name not said, aligned Not far from metropolitan streets Enlisted are construction workers to create Drawn down the road to concrete city Blueprints sit pretty There on the outskirts of town, worthy to build on A home, a structure to call your own Usual forms materialize with nature in layers Seem to build themselves communities Cropping up as large as life Sometimes it is hard to find your way home With so much going on The road to success is always under construction My house has a number above a wooden door Such a detail can be useful to have to get inside Steps lead the way on silent stones When I go home, get in, my world slows down Universe stops or shrinks in size, to be defined There are many wooden skeletal chairs there Fixated around a dining table when I arrive Waiting for a holiday or family to come together No prayers are said these days It’s just a dining area, nothing else A bed is hidden in another room It keeps secrets but mostly it keeps sleep Buried under pillows and quilts and sheets Furniture remembers everything The kitchen is the center of it all It comes in reds and yellows with a sink and range Fires from the stove ravage meats and vegetables Such alterations make them manageable to eat Ice cubes in the freezer trays stay there complacently Waiting for someone’s drink, a friendly hand to warm them Home has a shower down the hall Cabinets full of towels and soap lie beneath the sink Clean thoughts from wall to wall TV turned up loud in the living room To keep life serene and meek An old phone in plastic black rings and rings out emptiness Lies lazy on the antique table, stationary, waiting Sits by the ancient sofa hugging floor Listens for someone to answer the call There is an echo running through the halls invisible But no one picks up the receiver No one is home Only the ghost of a ringer