Fay Slimm - Behind Closed Doors.

Streets of small houses shut out
All but dim bulbs behind blinds

Every night flickering screens
Seem to pattern thin curtains
With wavering luminous lines.

What lives, loves and hates erupt
Behind doors of sanitised wood?

Are they using dull evenings
For talking, weeping, maybe
In laughter, or weaving more
Fanciful dreams understood
To be acceptable scenes
Of hidden domestic bliss?

More likely is seems, barring
Adventures for girls and boys,
Who, bowed down over table,
Vying with family noise,
Scratch sweaty answers, but miss
Out on lost childhood meanwhile.

Upstairs, preening, are sisters
Who dream of soon leaving
To tan in the sun before,
Their young life done, they re-style
Into wives, cleaning the house
The same as their Mums, taking
Life uncomplainingly, but
Aching with unfulfilled hopes.

Their unthinking men, choking
On smoke, drinking and mating
With lads at the Pub., closing
Their doors to any warm love
As they stumble back home, and
Fumbling in bed, they begin
The whole sad saga again.

Closed doors of habit won't move
Unless they are given a shove.

Fay Slimm

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/behind-closed-doors-11/