Neighborhood of the Disenchanted

Everyone was hopeless and melancholy.
It couldn’t be blamed on anything specific.
I wore earplugs to block out the wailing,
Which they took with great indignation.
My words were riddles I couldn’t even solve
With a pencil and scratch paper.

The days rotated out from under us.
It was always late at night, the street empty,
Which made the boot falls an anomaly
Even to the frozen rabbits, whose ears stood
At attention. The tragedy the world wrote
Itself out of came to its soliloquy,

But the sound was off. On Lifetime,
The History Channel, lovers held hands
In front of a ditch as the rifles were lowered,
And the commercials joyfully
Acknowledged their own fabrications
While still indulging in them.