Rhythm

Keith Irwin

The sun rises and the sun sets. The spring planting yields summer growth, fall harvest, and winter fallowness. And these rhythms are a part of life, and these rhythms matter, in the country.

Whip-whap whip-whap go the windshield wipers. Grung grung goes the diesel engine. Don’t walk signs flash and basketballs bounce and factories hum. Rhythms are everywhere, engulfing the city.

But the suburbs, oh the suburbs, they are “Is it really Wednesday? I need to get the kids to soccer practice.” “I gotta work late. Sorry.” And daycare centers and latchkey children wandering home. And schedules as irregular as the suburbanites are regular. The only rhythm in the suburbs is the cacophonic tide of cars leaving each morning and returning each evening. But even that is only five times out of seven.

And I do not wonder why suburban teens seek out rap music.