Up on the hill they look so small,
homes in a row, so perfect.
Trees all trimmed, white fences
guarding lives within the walls.
They won’t give up their secrets.
Sometimes the residents are found
to be more broken than the glass that litters
roads below their flawless homes.
One embezzled money from the people in the town.
One walked in shadows, offered sex for money
for the drugs that left her kids without a mom.
One buried bodies for the mob, no questions asked,
until they buried him for ratting to the police.
One beat his wife, then pushed her down the stairs.
Looks can deceive, and wealth does not absolve
us from our actions in the dark.
published in Prolific Pulse
Comments