I see glimpses of what I’m running from
In rows of houses all shaped the same
Stretching further every year
Trying to catch up with me
Fences in between
Say ‘stay out of my Eden’
Islands in the fresh-mowed grass
Nations of white collars
I pass a youth with sullen eyes and a lip ring
He is embarrassed by the man with the toe shoes
Embarrassed to be seen with his parents
He walks apart from them, feigning isolation
I feel his jealous gaze as I dash past
A boy who yearns to break free
As I have
Tearing away from the endless avenues of 2.5 storeys and 2.5 children
Freedom is the hill on the edge of town
A stack of topsoil, the kind made for bikes and sleds
The kind that summons nostalgia
The kind that will soon be swallowed by a themed community
It is a place where I can survey the town that I escaped from
And look to the beckoning mountains beyond
Where houses don’t grow like weeds
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