green pastures

the sign
reads retirement
community, fifty
five and over.
there is a picket
fence
around the guard
house
that has no one
in it.
there are flowers
and pruned
bushes.
a speed table
greets you at
the front. it
slows you down
as it does
the ambulances
that visit every
curb over time.
from a distance,
the land looks
like a cemetery
freshly groomed,
lush green with low
square houses,
tombstones
without inscriptions,
all with the same
shadows, bending
away from
the sun.