Edina.

Full of happy families and cute kids walking down France Avenue.

Boys ride down the streets on their bikes

Talking,

Laughing.

Preppy girls, like Laura Jasper, who wear Sperry’s and Ralph Lauren,

Ride into the country club lot in their Beamers and Jeeps.

The man down the street, Mr. Sonny,

I’ve never spoken to.

But still he waves to me as I drive by every morning,

On my way to school.

At D’amico, people in line want to talk,

Ask you what you plans are for college,

Ask where you live,

What you’re interested in.

At Barrio I run into at least five people I know,

All of which want to chat,

And compliment me on how much I’ve grown.

It’s an oasis of happy people and safety,

But that’s not all I see.

The brand new house of the sweet people down the street?

Someone unplugged their drainage system,

Flooding their entire finished basement.

The old, one of a kind Edina Gas Station

With its sign displaying inspiring quotes like

“Believe you can and you’re halfway there!”

Run to the ground by a large gas company.

The sign now reads

“Large drink 59 cents”

The Westerville’s dog always jumps its fence,

Attacking the innocent dogs on the block.

There’s barely a dog that hasn’t gone to the vet for stitches.

George Lagerstrom,

An eight year old boy I babysat for every Sunday,

Dound dead in his bed not yet a month ago,

Found to have had a bad heart.

The oasis is a mask for what lies beneath.

All the turmoil and tension,

Hidden by smiling faces and happy waves.