More Like Silent Suburbs

Of the living, cemeteries

Wherever. Could be New Orleans,

Cape Town, anywhere tradition

For some of the population

Has meant hiding recently dead

Bodies in tombs or underground

Below headstones. Mausoleums,

Even cenotaphs, may fill the scene

As well—all that stone in neat rows

Is what matters, makes it town-like.

They’ve been nicknamed silent cities,

But they’re clearly bedroom suburbs,

Those grids of similar structures,

Low roofs lining neat lanes, plush lawns,

Trees at regular intervals,

Their absence of pedestrians,

Invisible eyes you might sense

Following you trying your best

To look cheerfully innocent,

Although no one seems to be home.