fiction Observations Writing

A house, who’s lived in it?

The sixties housewife who spent her days swamped in chores,
Her husband who was always ranting each time he came through the doors.
Their three little children, so well behaved,
Then the old man’s father before he went to the grave.

The eighties rock chick, dressed in fluorescent colours,
Her many boyfriends and the rest were just lovers.
A friendly Labrador who obeyed her every request,
She loved this dog and he loved her, for they are the very best.

Then the nineties came and brought in a new clan,
Just a couple and their baby who sat in his pram.
The mother was lucky and didn’t have to work,
While the garden expanded and the baby played in the dirt.

The family moved when the millennium struck,
Father Dixon came into a bit of luck.
Next came a gambler, his name was Phil,
He didn’t last long, bill after bill.

2003 brought another family but the children soon fled,
Margaret and James swear that they will still live here when they are dead.
I always think each time I look at the brick,
Here’s a house, somebody’s home, but who’s lived in it?

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