Hampton Hills.
Mansions, guest houses, long driveways, fences and gates.
Gardens tended by gardeners nobody sees, pools nobody swims in.
Perfectly mowed lawns that have never seen a picnic.
Boats that haven’t left their docks in years, if ever.
There are no public schools. Kids went to boarding schools in Switzerland of France.
When there were kids.
They live in the city, work in the city.
And talk about “the place in the country.”
But never find the time. Never make the time.
Another gallery opening, another show to see.
Another merger or millions to make.
While Hampton Hills sleeps.