The Man in the House

There’s a man in the house

And the man is scared

He’s scared of the other people in the house

The ones who won’t talk to him

He’s in the other bedroom

He’s behind the other wall

He’s up among the rafters

He’s listening

He’s alone

There’s a man in the house

And the man hears a sound

The man stubs a toe

The man doesn’t yell

The man won’t open windows

The man won’t tell a lie

The man forgets what to forget

And whether he can leave

Or not

The man won’t use a mirror

The man won’t light a match

There’s a man in the house

And the man has no things

He waits in doorways

He’s in the window

He’s in the kitchen

He doesn’t cook

He eats

The man in the house

Has been there

For years

He parades around the living room

And sets fire to the beds

He doesn’t believe in haunting

He doesn’t aggravate the setting

He doesn’t tell us what we want to hear

He doesn’t let us stand where we want

He doesn’t let us sleep

He doesn’t let us

He doesn’t let us

He doesn’t let us

Forget

He’s there

There’s a man in the house

And the man has the keys

He knows where things are hidden

He knows which room is which

He knows what floorboard the coins are under

And how many knocks opens a door that’s locked

The man laughs down in the cellar

The man tells stories in the dark

There’s a man in the house

And the man is of the house

And the man built the house

And the man burns it down

And all while we’re inside it

And all while we’re asleep

And everyone is nervous

But no one makes a peep

There’s a man in the house

And he’s not very tall

And he’s not very scary

And he doesn’t hurt us one way

He goes around

He goes around

To the wrong side

Of the thing to do

To where nobody suspects

He’d go

There’s an overnight tension

A morning reserve

A permanent Sunday

A fixed skip on the record

There’s a man in the house

And the man never leaves

When he steps outside

He’s just a story

That nobody wants

To tell

The shivers go up

Through the chimney

The cries die down

In the soft, white pillows

The day arrives too late

And the night

Begets a storm

The man in the house

Says ‘Go if you like’
But where could you go?

This is his house

He reminds you

This is his house

Not yours

There’s no car in the garage

The bicycles don’t have tires

The walking shoes are worn and torn

And there are darker places to be

Than a house

With a man

Who won’t leave