The Man of the House

By Ivan X. Naranjo

11/6/15

 

I temporarily am residing at a small home in the center of town

It has four stories and long stained glass windows all around

Whenever I go out the people treat me so nicely, they say there's that young man with the house

They smile when they see me pass by and only bright good things sit and wait on the roof of my mouth

Each window that separates the walls and draws sunlight in portrays a tale from my adventurous life

Children point at each one, say how interesting they are and pick which one they want to be like

Oh there's the poet working hard at his desk, crafting beautiful poems that stand out from the rest

And there's the marathon runner crossing the finish line on his very first attempt, he must've been so proud when he took that last step

There he is behind a camera shooting a film, and look there he is acting like a professional in front of it as well

And also after editing that work he finds time to spend with his family and friends that complement him on all the work that he sells

What a magnificent man, his significant other must be so lucky and he must be one of all sorts of talents

He can sing and write at the same time while standing on a ball and keeping his balance

When I collect my mail I smile at them and say they're too kind, I'm just a man that wears about seven different hats

They all laugh as I go back inside, and then I turn on the switch in the main hall that changes it to bright from black

I'm every man, or at least what they strive to be

I work for lots of money at a law firm and everything goes right for me

And when I take off my business pants I put on running shorts, as those are my two pairs of legs

I can easily go from being professional and serious to being jubilant and free and running for miles on end

When I finally meet my destination thats felt like a lifetime to reach 18 miles away

My mind is tired and so are my legs, so I rest and life itself passes another day

And I awake cradled in a brown and dark corner of a hollowed burnt and blown out building as I sit up in the place where through the night I had laid

I look at my surroundings and realize I am in my home, one that's blue and with open doors that sits in eternal gray

It never stops snowing as the white dust falls through the blasted out roof and onto the floors of the halls

I run back and forth to keep myself warm and don't go near the broken windows that have been smashed by rocks and baseballs

Don't go to that house the adults tell the children, stay away

It's too dangerous and a scary man lives in there with 7 heads and 2 sets of legs

And the fear of being labeled as wrong sends me to run back to my chronically autumn home

The winds push me there as the cool and happy daylight never ceases to show

But the laugher of the children combined with the shadows of the halls and reflections of the stained glass causes me to run away in terror

Back to an empty place where from people I am isolated and see calamity and no error

As soon as the cold sets in though and I hear the noises of the wind crying in the rafters

I get up and leave regretting my decision to come here and think it a disaster

And I'm constantly running back and forth and never knowing how people actually see me

I try to find what it is by creating works influenced by my life in films poems and stories

So I'm a poet, a runner and a filmmaker that everyone loves and to with wants to go home

But I'm also secluded and a man that nobody knows