Sect Meant Way Not Side

Let’s say you have a house
By the side of a road—
Not a loud or fast road

As roads go, but quite close
To the house, which is not
A real house, just a chair

With some glass and a door
That shield you from the road—
From the roars, fumes, and stares

From the trucks and pick-ups
And bikes and cars—so close
Folks can look in on you,

As now and then they do.
You don’t own the house, don’t
Own the road it sits on.

You feel you might should move,
But why? What would you do?
You’re good. You have your view.