The Love Song of R. E. Simon

(With apologies to T.S. Eliot, who never named a town Tseton)

Let us go then, you and I,
Where bollards are spread out against the sky
Like earth-toned buildings etherized upon a table

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
Of restless nights in RTC
And midscale restaurants with unlimited bread to eat.

Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go, pay the parking app, and make our visit.

In Wegmans the women come and go
Talking of half-price tangelos.

The yellow trim that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
That brings the ire of cluster covenants so long as it remains,

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "the green space is where?"
Time to turn back and
With a bald spot in the middle of my lawn --
(They will say: "How his lawn is infested with invasive spawn!")

On the bike trail the cyclists come and go
Talking of woonerf and the velodromo.

Do I dare
Disturb the DRB?
Do I dare
Play golf on developable property?
Or go to the casino, wherever that may be?

I grow old ... I grow old ...
The shag carpeting in my conversation pit is rolled.

At Lake Anne, the speed walkers come and go
Talking of concrete and Portofino.

Shall I sweep out my carport?
Do I dare to take Metro to places unknown?
I shall wear off-white flannel trousers, and walk upon the lakes.
I have heard the mermaids singing, mostly saying, "They're manmade. They're fake."
I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding Tysonsward on the waves
Combing the algae blooms of the waves blown back
We have lingered in the Village Centers, the public arts, and the Civic Plazas.
By stucco and plywood wreathed with invasive ivy in 70s red and brown
Till Ashburn voices wake us, and we drown. 

This post was originally published in the Reston Letter.