Strange Man About the House

I'm a stranger in this house.

As unwelcome as an icy draught,

a rising sea of silverfish

or a giant woodlouse in a blouse.

 

There's no place like home

and this is no place like that place. I mean,

you look right through me

like I'm not here

and maybe never have been.

 

"This Ole House" sang Shakin' Stevens

and for once he was not faking.

This crepuscular dump is filled with strange kids -

I like to trip them up when I'm bored.

Sometimes I crouch down in the wardrobe,

surrounded by the other man's threads.

At other times I slip further under the radar

and sit stiffly in the petrified dinette.

God forgive me for snorting derisively

at such second-rate tins of biscuits.

 

This isn't my house.

I do not belong.

I've packed my bags

and I've already gone.

 

B.R. 02/11/2014

 

A still from Meshes of the Afternoon (1943), directed by Maya Deren and Alexander Hammid