Coming of Age in Suburbia

A must-read. Brilliant metaphor and honesty.

Oran's Well


The housing development in Florida we moved to
in 1972 had been carved out of an orange grove.
Our split style ranch had six trees and a pool
for 42 grand. When we moved in construction
was still going on, acres of orange trees collapsing
behind our back fence with streets and new houses
slowly filling in the gouges: Noise by day, seeping
groans in the darkness at night. Cracker wilderness
balding to suburb, briars and snakes under concrete.
I was 13 so my memories of the two years we lived
there are heavy with puberty’s brilliant tang.
There was sexual ardor and mystery just in the way
I squeezed quarts of juice from the oranges I picked.
The pulpy mouthpubis of quenching, the sudden flow
of cold sweetness thrilling down through the groin.
Everything back then was either getting or taking,
picking this girl or another and trying to…

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2 thoughts on “Coming of Age in Suburbia

  1. Not even sure of a last name for the poet. His first name is Brendon. And yes, the metaphors are so well done. It’s taken me about three reads to collect them all, or most of them at least.


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