Fortuitous Poem by Mary Robinson

A rest might be an idea.

There is too much eating
There is altogether too much sex, dancing, carousing, reveling.
All of it goes for far too long.
There is powdered sugar dust on everything.
There are twinkle lights burning every day of the year.
Funerals, Jell-O shots, fishing, swearing, barbecues
Back-door gigs, vats and vats of jambalaya.
There are too many houses and sidewalks
Disappearing under weeds and vines
And in yards that look impenetrable,
Too many neon signs, too much on-the-stoop drinking,
Corruption, and Technicolor clothes,
Too much Crawfish shucking,
And Catholic everything, too much stale beer,
Too many heroin junkies shooting up on the balconies,
Too many big houses and trees snapped off,
Too many steel billboards bent to the ground,
Too much Andouille sausage, and second lines,
Too much money, and debauch, and cars parked all crooked.