once upon a time a house
and it was a strange time
the house once-uponed
strange in that the people
dressed in Victorian costumes
but lived quite Edwardian lives
either of which was strange
because both require a London
and the house stood upon a wide, wide plain
the like of which all England could not muster
but odder still, the people spoke
accents from South Africa
the Dakotas, Boston, Sacramento
and even odder if you will
some days the house stood all alone in the wind
as if waiting for the next troupe of characters
only the little boy who lived in the basement was constant
he peeped out and listened from under the stairs
or behind the stove or up in the attic sometimes
the people he watched and heard were quite bizarre
not like his simple, plain mother
who had accidentally left him
he was sure it was an accident
at least he was sure on Wednesdays
and some Saturdays
meanwhile, he hated the damned wind
and was glad for each new troupe of characters
and the stories they made him guess at
to explain their weird conversations
and what they did to each other
he was sure that if he grew up
he would never behave any of those ways
but for the times being
he would hug his teddy bear and wait
if his mother showed up again
he would grab onto her leg
and never let go
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