David Fisher Poet Iambic Pentameter

Picture Perfect Town

We’ve long admired the masterpiece dwellings
Contained by the picture perfect town,	
And at last inquired what they were selling
But there was not a soul to be found.

We parked in front of a fine art store
That displayed a wondrous collection,
And noticed the freshly painted door
Though its panes shone without reflection.

We saw Rockwell patrons standing inside
That removed each of our apprehensions,
But then I couldn’t push the door aside
Because it was drawn in one dimension.

I grabbed my wife as she was fainting,
And then reflected as she calmed down.
Why are we always fooled by a painting
Of every picture perfect town?

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Darren Watson February 5, 2014 at 10:22 AM The village I live in really is the stuff of chocolate box pictures when the roads are quiet on a Sunday morning. Come Monday morning when the cars are back , Those narrow roads are a nightmare. I loved this poem.

Sue K Green February 5, 2014 at 7:17 AM It's our search for this perfection that we find our real space.

Christine Phillips February 2, 2014 at 2:39 PM This is a beautiful poem with a nice twist at the end. It made me chuckled a bit. I wanted to read more. Nicely done.