If you could look through any window
Of any house on any given street,
You might find yourself quite surprised
At the variety of people you would meet.
The couple at number twenty-three
Have been married nearly seven years
They are having another noisy row:
It will eventually end in tears.
The problem is, the whole street knows,
That he wants a family, she her career.
That relationship is heading just one way:
The divorce court beckons I fear.
Mr Bartholomew at number twenty-six
Nearly ninety years old if he’s a day.
Rarely gets out much any more
Since his wife recently passed away.
He has a carer, a middle-aged woman
Who is bright and bubbly
But she cannot give Bartholomew what he needs most:
Love, affection and company.
The businessman at number twenty-two
Is obese and past his prime.
He spends his money and his lunch hour
Seeking a much happier time.
In the arms of a young prostitute;
Lissom, lithe and beautiful.
With her he’s a young stud again
Not a silly, overweight, deluded fool.
The big house on the corner
Is owned by a couple who are gay
They keep themselves to themselves
They rarely have much to say.
However if you met either of them
You might get a nice surprise.
They are just two happy-go-lucky men:
Just two ordinary pleasant young guys.
Unlike her at twenty-five,
We all know her disgusting game:
She calls herself Miss Emilia Court
But she goes by another name
‘Mistress Cruella – Disciplinarian’
So her business card reads.
Apparently she takes care of
Perverted men’s sexual needs.
They parade in and out her door
All times of day and night.
The biggest surprise of all to me
Is that her house doesn’t boast a red light!
Barry Lane at number twenty-seven
Is home late again tonight.
His wife of fifteen long-suffering years
Can’t wait to put things right.
She knows what he’s up to,
He’s ‘played away’ before.
She’s had enough of being his doormat
She won’t take it anymore.
Her ultimatum will be non-negotiable:
The very final straw.
If he strays just one more time
She’ll finally show him the door.
In the small bedroom of number twenty
Tony Parker waits with anticipation
He’s got the house to himself for once
And he is waiting for his girlfriend Allison.
She promised that she will go ‘all the way’
It’ll be the first time for the teenage pair
Tony can barely catch his breath
As he waits for her there.
He is ready for this, he’s fully prepared
Condoms, flowers, a purloined bottle of wine.
At last! That gentle knock on the door.
Let’s wish them both a really good time.
The story could not be more different
For the couple at number twenty-eight
The spectre of impending death
Waits at the garden gate.
Cancer riddled and fading fast,
Ginette Masters is long past crying.
She has had over a year now
To get used to the idea of dying.
Her sadness is for her family
Her husband, daughter and son.
Who will take care of them
When she is finally gone?
Number twenty-nine holds many secrets
Of domestic violence and abuse
If you closely at Martine Jones’s make-up
She’s concealing yet another bruise.
The police are regular visitors
To the Jones’s front door
They have taken Rhys Jones away
Several time before.
But every time Martine lets him back home
After he promises he’ll change his ways.
I expect that there will be a murder enquiry
Conducted in that house one of these days.
By contrast Jim and Mabel Cousins
Have been married fifty years or more
They’ve lived every day of married life
At number twenty-four.
They brought up their family in that house
And the kids visit frequently,
With their own children in tow now:
That house is a happy place to be.
Number twenty-one is an enigma
At the moment it’s unoccupied.
Nobody seems able to settle there,
Though numerous folks have tried.
Couples, singles, young and older
Have all tried but not stayed long
The house looks perfectly ordinary
I wonder what could be wrong?
So, if you could look through any window
Of any house in the street where you reside
What secrets do you think would be uncovered?
More importantly, what secrets do YOU hide?