“Please, don’t think I’m being smug . . . “  I mean this to be about being thankful but, ironically, it probably can’t help but sound boastful. 

© Steven E. Cutts, 2013 
a Studio C recording, December 2013 


Tornadoes don’t touch down in my neighborhood; they twist their way through other people’s lives. 

Forest fires torch mountain homes; they leave my neighborhood alone. 

Hurricanes can’t wash away foundations that were built to stay. 

And Danger stays away from my neighborhood; cars don’t race up and down the streets. 

Kids can ride their bikes to school; the chance of trouble’s miniscule; 

Bad stuff doesn’t happen here.  That isn’t true in places that are near. 

Outside my neighborhood (but not so far away) the charm is lost and gone. 

It’s not Easy Street – it’s not safe, and it’s not calm. 

I see pain in people’s eyes staring from the doorways where they slept last night – 

Guns and anger mixing badly in a fight – police cars with their sirens wailing, flashing lights. 

So I hurry back to my neighborhood. 

There’s not a lot of noise in my neighborhood; music doesn’t blare throughout the night. 

If children scream, it’s make-believe -- games of tag and hide & seek. 

The only true annoying sound is when Good Humor’s coming ‘round. 

And no one’s lost his job in my neighborhood; no one’s mortgage has ever gone unpaid. 

There’s money in the pension plans; we take vacations ‘cause we can; 

Families don’t run out of food; we all have up-beat, hopeful attitudes. 

Don’t assume my neighborhood is some sort of McMansion Wonderland! 

We’re not billionaires; we’re very middle class, you understand. 

Please, don’t think I’m being smug when I say our lives are awfully nice -- 

Not some Norman Rockwell paradise; we didn’t get here without sacrifice, 

But it’s worth the price – 

My neighborhood.