house at home

The men they all tell me,
there’s something I’ve got,
something that makes them
forget what they’ve not,
what not to say,
who not to play,
where not to go,
whose house is home

They all think they’re happy,
green shutters and puppies,
filling SUV gas tanks
like prize-winning yuppies,
but then they meet me,
and rethink what they’ve thought,
think why,
think how,
think no,
no way this house is home

They want me to teach them,
I say it’s too late,
they’ve run straight head into
that thing we call fate,
fated ring,
fated breast,
fated poem,
fated place
you call home