The thing that bugs me
The most is
The complete,
The furnished,
The model house.
The one that resides at
The foot of
The subdivision like a famished covergirl chaperoning
The rest of
The homes. Think of all
The electricity that is wasted in lighting
The house; all of
The chemicals on
The super-green lawn; all
The resources that went into
The construction; all this just for
The sample house. Like
The little slices of pizza
The grocery store gives out on Saturdays. Like
The place is a realized dream house for
The newly wed couple following
The American dream:
The one where we destroy
The forests for model homes;
The one where we gluttonize energy for
The urban sprawl business;
The one I drive by on
The daily commute.

Lucas Stangl
LUCAS STANGL's poems have appeared in The Peralta Press, Poetry Motel, The Coe Review and The Fifth Column.  At last count he had five day jobs: Pro Shop Attendant, Inventory Supervisor, Tournament Chef, Coffee-jerk in a Borders Books Music and Café, and Slumlord.
The Adirondack Review