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?