Off Rt. 19 in North County

Greetings Hairballers,

Seems I’ll be moving, yet again, in December when my lease is up.  This place is getting weird and expensive--not a good combination.

I’ve been in Florida almost 13 years, not counting a year back in DC because I was homesick.  The first ten were spent in the suburbs.  No, not the charming little towns like Dunedin and Tarpon Springs in Florida or Chevy Case and Bethesda around DC, the burbs. The main drag out there was Rt. 19, a cross between the Jersey Turnpike and Rockville Pike, populated by car dealerships, pawn shops, auto body works, chain restaurants, etc.--no trees or grass.  There were miles of housing developments, where the homeowners associations kept everything same, same, same.  If someone came home drunk, they probably had to sleep in their car because they couldn’t identify their house. 

I like being in the woods, at the beach or in town.  I’m a square peg anyway but especially in the burbs with all the school buses and Wal-Marts.

Here’s my take on it--

Off Rt. 19 in North County©

         FMHorner

Roots never grew in

the shifting sands of that polyester paradise,

where all was illusion.

A façade that lured the speedo-wearing tourists,

seeking sun and sand,

but who never saw beyond their beach hotels or Spanish moss.

What allure the plastic palm adorning the Jiffy Lube,

or the cardboard Elvis by the entrance to the bingo parlor

in a shabby strip mall next door?

The tropical beauty stayed hidden behind the walls

of gated communities and private estates with signs

that read:  Private--Do Not Enter Here

Hairballs,

f