Look at these houses, my friend and
think --
who lives in them?
Who lives in these humble grey
houses, behind the fenced-in dog area,
behind the curtained windows and doors?
Is he, perhaps, 77,
stares at a snowy TV screen
dreams of his dead wife?
misses his children?
Behind the cold stare of these windows
does she, perhaps
hide her father's bottles?
Is someone crying? Laughing? Homesick? Heartbroken?
Is he crazy? does she
love him
anyway?
Is she shy? Does he escape into his dreams?
Do you hate him for it?
What moves him? love logic music?
Does she
write poems?
Is someone
crying behind the windows of those
humble grey houses?