A blue tiger in a cage,
been harnessed for his rage,
a rattle on the floor at five to six.
Fevered howling from afar,
tyres screeching – death by car.
A finger on the dead still beat of night.
To let the beast run rife,
with her little switchblade knife,
then pass out at the door upon the mat.
Raise your glasses by daylight,
live in fear not by flight,
Get out, this is my suburbia.
- Melissa Vowell
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