Here are the words

Here are the pictures

Here are the stories

Of the people places and things

Of that which is never told

In houses that are filled

Each with their own little drama

One upon another

Stacked in order

Some neat and kempt

Others overrun and exhausted

Across from an avenue

Near the close

In the place they called the street

 

Here are the people busy

Walking talking scratching out a living

Extracting all they can

From all they have 

And sometimes from all they haven’t

Each with their own little castle

Dropping the portcullis

Pulling up the drawbridge

Pushing out the living

Pretending they are all dead

 

Here is the time of the clock

The marching matching hands

Turning spinning cog by cog

Counting down the minutes

To yet another day

Sunrise risen

Half past the hour

Ringing buzzing whirring

Time to get up

Time to join the queue

Beep the horn

Run the race

Chase the rat

Time to serve your time

To do your bit

Until the day is long

 

Here are the children

Returning home from school

By bus and by car

Phones at the ready

Expecting another text

From the friend next door

Or half way down the street

Here’s the baby crying

The father the mother

The kisses on the cheek

Children watching T.V.

Video games played

Time for tea it’s half past text

Put the device down be nice to your sister

She’s the only one you’ve got

Another hour or two is over

The children are in bed

Father snoring on the sofa

Mothers upstairs with a book

Another day is complete

Thank goodness it’s nearly Friday

And it will be time for a glass or two of the grape

Another lie in day before its starts again on Monday

Sharp at half past six