The lawns are untidy, leaf-littered,
bits of toys and garden tools scattered
all around. The ground is weedy, seeds
of unwanted things still hanging, in need
of attention, a thing they cannot find.
Windows made opaque by curtains or blinds,
or sometimes just dirty sheets nailed
up to hide the fact that they’ve failed
to cover their secrets and lies, their things to hide
from the careless world that waits outside.
These are the homes of the never-had, the ones
whose dreams have gone bad and beliefs are long gone,
whose hopes were abandoned at the school gates,
where the miseducation that they got from the state
gave them just enough learning to understand why
they would never amount to a thing, so they try
to live in a way that will give them some fun,
or at least in a way that will leave them quite numb
to opinions of others. They don’t even care now,
they see all these rich cows,
the ones who had chances
the ones without debt, the ones with finances,
they see them and their homes with their neat
little gardens and fancy nice cars and sweet
little children and they look in the mirror
and they sit back and wonder
‘how on earth did we get here,
just how did we get here?’
These are the homes of the abandoned.
I am not one of them.
I am not.