Long roads, the lazy viewing
of houses rushing by.
Gardens full of plenty,
windows bright, reflections
painting curtains with the sky.
Cows, fields with rolls of fodder,
barns - then houses in a row.
Our car moves on impervious
to the lives we cannot know.
I read the washing lines.
So many y-fronts, jeans and socks.
No nappies, so it seems
that only adults live in this neat, cosy box.
Next door so different.
Socks are small, sweaters pink and blue,
petticoats have lace, and aprons flap,
stockings and a skirt or two
lively in the breeze. No trousers.
Single parent? Man away?
They flash into our orbit for a moment in a day.
We give them lives they do not have
then vanish on our careless way.
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