Having driven an hour up the road, arriving at the conclusion that you and I aren't nearly as different as we think.

Their tulips bloom in flower beds
just like ours do, and spring
rain stands in oily pools
where cars once were.

In quiet neighborhoods,
much like ours, with fresh
cut lawns, men walk dogs
in early morning half-light
past the occasional home
with boarded-up windows.

Their children count the days
until summer, adults 'til the weekend
while the elderly count days
between visitors, and sometimes
one of them is lost too soon.

All of us suffering in small ways
under the excruciating beauty
of small towns in springtime.