In the hush of a quiet suburban night,
Where the trees stretch fingers to the stars,
And the HOA board meets under moonlight,
A different kind of talk begins its part.

"It's not just the lawns or the trash bins,
What we're watching is what's beneath,
The values that we try to keep within,
When whispers turn into shouts and threats."

The school's bell rings like a warning gong,
Echoes of children's laughter fade,
The neighborhood feels the threat of wrong,
As property values start to trade.

"We need to keep the peace, maintain control,
Manage optics, keep up appearances,
For if the neighborhood falls, we lose our soul,
The value in our homes begins to wane."

So we gather in our boardroom, tight-lipped and calm,
Silent agreements are made,
Strangers turn to friends, and to one another clench their palms,
Bound by the fears that we hide away.

"Who will speak of Vektrax and the noise at dawn,
Or RoboCop's strict, unyielding gaze?
The whispers of Cowboy and his ranch hand,
The scandals that could cost us our status and grace?"

In the stillness of the night, we know,
That each one of us holds a key,
To the secrets that we try to hide,
And the future we're trying to keep.

So we whisper our warnings, we manage our fate,
For in the shadow of the trees,
It's not just the homes we try to save, but the state,
Of a neighborhood's pride and its peace.

Warmly,
Karen M. Whitmore
HOA Board | PTA Treasurer | ~Wine Mom~
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