[Kevin Cutrer]

What really makes this poem, to me, is its bringing to bear a rather common aesthetic complaint (out of ordinary snobbism, as Mr. Cassity points out) into a very practical delimma (and as Tim points out, possibly very personal). It can be quite bewildering to visit such a place for the first time, especially under these understated circumstances. Very well done.

[Petra Norr]

I think it’s well done on the whole. I’m not sure I can find a volta, but maybe it’s not necessary. In the main, the sonnet doesn’t seem to change much from its starting point of a community where everything adheres to certain rules. At the end of the sonnet the flag, garden gnome, etc. are just further examples of the conformity, in my view.
I think the word “Navy” in the title is important because if we didn’t see this as Navy housing it would seem no different from any surburban (row-house) community. The “Navy” gives the poem a bit of edge.
I like the dog. But I was surprised at the “ankle-length grass” – that’s way too long for a place like this. The lawn needs a Navy crewcut.

[Rick Mullin]

I agree with my tall friend from Plum Island that this is very, very familiar territory. For me, the Navy angle is important, which is why the mention of the flag is a nice touch near the end. And, of course, the going off-course even with the K-9 olfactory guidance system. It is nicely done, beautiful, in fact. It finds a place in a genre covered by everyone from Carole King to the aforementioned Seaman Lynch. It does more or less stay in its place, making no waves, but that is tragically in keeping with its theme.

I cross-posted with Petra--I too was somewhat *boinked* when I got to the ankle-length grass. It is actually one of my favorite moments for that alone--but also, it has a subliminal "sea of grass" effect, which enhances the navigating home effect.

[John Beaton]

I read another layer here: to me, "than go off course again" suggests naval navigation. This place is like a seascape with no landmarks. And those that exist (the Home, Sweet Home signs) are false because there are lots of them. I get the sense of a ship lost in fog surrounded by so many lighthouses the crew can't identify any of them. So it conveys to me a mixture of would-be homeliness and naval lostness. I think the poem contains some originality.

Like Petra, I had a problem with ankle-height grass.

I like the "apple blossom tree". It suggests that these trees are there only because they look good for a brief period in spring--a concise way of eliciting superficiality.

John

[Alex Pepple]

The meter here is capable and the simple rhyming, besides being almost all monosyllables, has a plainness that mirrors the dull setting. There is a lot going on in this deceptively understated sonnet. Besides the obvious, I read an eerie sameness of purpose for the residents, one where some who leave indeed be lost or never find their way back home no matter their skills at sniffing their way out of danger -- where the residents would prefer to stay in their nondescript “Home, Sweet Home” because “it’s safer to stay / indoors than go off course again.” This is well-executed, subtly and masterfully but layered.
Cheers,
…Alex

[Rose Kelleher]

I didn't read this as heartbreaking at all. To me it comes across as wry about the superficial stuff but ultimately upbeat about the things that matter.

Yes to this comment by Mr Cassity:
"Suburbia always gets a bad rap, probably out of ordinary snobbism."

But what does he mean by "The dog walks away with this poem"?

[R. Nemo Hill]

It's an efficient poem, as efficient as the object of its complaint. Unlike others, I think I'd be more comfortable here without the present Navy Housing title, preferring not to have the scene sketched out so heavily right from the get-go. In my imagination, I find myself substituting a title more ambiguous and then revolving the sonnet around on its turn so as to enter the poem along the confused pedestrian path of the dog-walker, forced to stalk these mean streets before I know exactly where it is that I am.

Yes, this territory has been well-traveled--but as an unrepentantly snobbish (if you will) critic of the suburb I hailed from, that's alright with me. Rather than the dog, however, I think it is the garden gnome that walks away with the poem. Or, without the explicit Navy reference, those flags (...picture them, the noxiously adorable mass-produced seasonal abominations that flap ad nauseum from porch after imitation porch).

I admire the poem, definitely. Yet can't help wondering if it might pack more punch if it were cut down to its last seven lines and re-titled, thereby avoiding the critique of same-old-same-old.

Anywhere, USA

How easily I lose myself out here.
Even the dog can barely sniff his way
back from the park. Was it a left we took?
A right? Perhaps it’s safer just to stay
indoors than go off course again. Oh, look—
another flag, another garden gnome,
another sign proclaiming Home, Sweet Home.

That would, unfortunately, gut all of its technically proficient symmetries; but would perhaps unleash the dog in its streets.

Still, despite my desire to shake things up, I give it high marks!

Nemo

[Lance Levens]

Rose,

Mr. Cassity may mean that the dog is the only thing in the poem that's not neat and orderly.

[Maryann Corbett]

Unlike Nemo, I'd leave the title as is. With the Navy connection, certain details in the poem get additional resonance: "Jones Street" isn't just "the Joneses" but John Paul Jones, showing how romantic history gets turned mundane. "No one/can deviate from others in the row" is not just houses on the block, but ranks and files of sailors in uniform, at attention. "Safer to stay indoors than go off course again" calls to mind the risks of navigation. I'd hate to have those undertones lost.

[Michael Cantor]

Nemo won me over. I prefer his stripped-down version, although with a different, less telly title. Maple Street would do it for me.