The Mind of Poetry
A family known as the Jones's
Dwell just down the street.
Fancy clothes dangling on their bodies,
Name brand shoes embracing their feet.
Tommy Hilfiger, Dolce Gabbana, Michael Kors,
Fondle their frames in excess.
Shoes of Jimmy Choo is nothing unexpected,
For the Jones's only wear the best.
Impressive cars lined up continuously,
In front of their shiny white abode.
Corvette, Jaquar, Porsche...
And more that never see the road.
Welcoming white picket fence,
Stand solely in their front yard grass.
The Jones's peer out the window with smiles,
Waving invitations to all that pass.
Neighbors who stroll by,
Transform themselves to harmonize,
From the Jones's material possessions,
To the demeanor in their eyes.
"What would the Jones's do,"
Is gossiped down the lane.
The children even whisper it,
As they dance by the Jones's domain.
Further down the kids run,
Is where my wee little cottage rests.
A small car weathered by use,
Thrifting all garments of dress.
Torn tags of recycled blouses,
Cut off jeans for shorts,
Worn shoes dangling from my feet,
And colorful textiles of sorts.
Not worrying about the Jones's,
I leap forward in the storm.
Loudly singing along with melodies,
That frees me from the Jones's norm.