Other People's Houses

In one of the bright, lit up houses on my street

Is a woman who doesn't spend her time wishing

for what she doesn't have.

Who slides her bare feet over smooth wooden floorboards,

Scoops up her little one, all covered in paint,

And rolls her around on patchwork and half-read books.

Who wraps herself warm in her man's big jumper,

As he serves up dinner on mis-matching plates.

Laughter comes easily and often;

She would never even stop to think

to look into other people's houses.