Bunions, The Subtle Song, and Politics

There's an odd fray inside and out. Attitudes roll in overlapping waves.
Sound snags of other peoples wash. Little twists of damp, tumbled
tissue wads clinging, fused to every pillow case, shirt sleeve, terried cloth,
mitered corner, seam of wore- torn sheet.

Your faded mother, pink and grey seersucker
slacks washed a thousand times, hung out again in the continuous summer
heat close to the chainlink wall, wooded home of morning glory, virgin blue
Green wilt in the crunch brown landscape

That neighbor and his man, you've heard
their ostrasized angry hush, clipping,
ripping, virgin blue.Their exorbitantly nurtured abundance,
exotic plants, coddled through late middle years.

Rameis has a son, who hip hopped loudly all sullen yellow morning.
I, cranky with the world swing shut never closed windows,
close out his delight, mornings beyond authority other than his own.
Freedom from school, home alone, grinding metal with abandon.