Suburban Lives
 
A quiet couple, keeping to themselves,
Behind high fences working on a dream :
A garden planned with water, shrubs and trees.
She, more outgoing, more relaxed it seems -
Shopping with neighbours, chatting of her schemes.
He was so reserved - people were off-put  -
A nod as he drove off was all we got.
 

Once he appeared with wheelie bin in tow,
Unkempt, barefoot, looking for the refuse truck.
Wild eyed, caught unawares, he blurted out,
"Oh no! I don't see any bins put out!"
He asked, "Am I too late?" "Early," I said
Adding, as he relaxed, "By just a day!"
We laughed, finding a bond, a small thing shared -
A friendship almost started in that way.
 

But now he's dead. I found out just by chance -
Almost too late to send "Sincere Regrets."
Died at the weekend in a bloody smash,
She'd seen it all - something she won't forget.
Will she go on, trying to catch a dream?
(A pond half dug and walls to raise between)
Or will she feel her life here's at an end :
All hope lost in a manner unforeseen.
 

The house is silent now while she's away
Staying with friends - the nightmare on replay.
The garden waits, two roses by the door :
Emblems of what was, if she returns once more.