an abode to abide by

there’s a burning smell in the basement
and a scratching at the door
there’s a hollow sound in the hallway
that wasn’t there before

there’s a whispering echo in the attic
and the floors have all started to creak
the doorknobs are turning themselves these days
and the walls have learned to speak

the faucet in the kitchen is twisting
till the water shoots out like a jet
and the drops that drip from the shower-head
are barely enough to get your nose wet

the carpet in the foyer is browning
and the dust on the mantle is glass
I shattered it last night with a hammer
but the rock below had all turned to ash

the keys hanging up on an old hook
are starting to look all the same
and just above the number on the mailbox
is lettered out some other folks’ name

so i hide in a box in the corner
of the empty room just down the hall
and i hope they don’t return from vacation too soon
because this house has gotten far, far too small