The world is my house
The world is my house. The world is our house.
No matter how much I dust, It recollects.
If the furniture is moved
Someone still stubs his toe.
People pile their stuff atop their desks
and throw their laundry and dishes in the wash.
Every week we atone for our faults:
Cleaning our private bedrooms and our public living rooms.
Should we clean our plate if loaded with sweets
Or take out our trash and set it all so that all can see
and take it to the dump to be forgotten.
Is your house empty? Alone?
Has everyone gone to kill their fatted cow?
We are family. Family is the beginning.
Author Note: i often thought while i was taping up lights (yes, taping), and laying out nativity scenes who are all those who can’t do this. people that can’t rejoice and be grateful that they have great families.
About the author
I live with my wife, an artist, in Indianapolis. Besides poetry, I like to take photographs, read books, travel overseas, and listen to news/political podcasts, college lectures and classic literature. You can read about my approach to poetry on my poetics page. To stay in touch, follow me on Twitter or connect on a variety of other social networks.
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