Abandoned

It is a street like all others

that structure the urban

landscape; orderly, solidly

middle-class, pride in 

ownership evident in those

neat facades nicely painted,

gardens and lawns spruced

for spring, and the bypassing

eye sees nothing remarkable

until it is arrested by the

bleak sight of one home in the

complacent neighbourly

row of houses whose 

windows are boarded and

where telltale black singes

have marred the even colour

of brick and siding.  The

house, looking bleak,

forlorn, even puzzled

at its sheer misfortune 

as though grieving for the

yesterday when all was normal 

in its pride of presence,

children's voices echoing 

in the halls, responding

to a mother's call to assemble

for the family meal.