The House Next Door
Some of the neighbors
Complain about the house across from me
It stands apart
From the neat lawns
Wide driveways
And picket fences.
Some say
The people who live there
Inherited the house from their parents
Years and years ago
When the area was marshland
And it was common to see
Hunters and fishermen.
A winding street
Wide enough for two cars to pass
Serves as a boundary between us.
The house once had a broken window
A gaping hole
That gave the house a reckless character
Like the missing front tooth
Of a mischievous young boy
Now it’s been covered by wood
Nearby, inexpensive white plastic chairs
Thin, stained and unused
Line the side of their house
Inviting phantom guests
To sit down.
In the upstairs bedroom
A curtain drawn as blinds hangs
Brightly colored
Defiant in the face of poverty
Inside a girl hides a diary from her parents
And dreams of the day when she is grown up
Young lovers kiss in the darkness
A hungry baby’s whimper is heard in the night
A radio
Left out on the front stoop
Plays a familiar song
To an empty street.
The people living in that house
Are proud
Keeping what they have
Admiring their courage
I ask myself
Who am I to complain?
Copyright © Edmund Siejka | Year Posted 2013
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