Today's poem is by James Haug

Ian's House

The bouncer at Ian's house has it pretty easy. The people who
come to Ian's house are the kind of people you'd expect, people
who listen to a little song in their heads, who wear navy wool caps
and give secret nods and are inwardly shocked when they glimpse
themselves in a mirror. They look high and low for Ian, without
urgency. It would be nice to find Ian. If Ian were to appear it
would be like a bell ringing in a foyer. If Ian were to appear it
would be in the kitchen and he's seated on the counter with a
glass of milk in his hand or a dark fabu lous cigarette. Nobody ever
sees more than half of Ian at a time. He's like a scrap of paper
rustling in the corner. He's like a passport picture and goes
backwards up the stairs. There are bunk beds and a skylight and
a beanpole in Ian's house. The people who come to Ian's house
leave Ian's house when it's time to leave, or maybe later. Most
nights are quiet nights. Ian's house doesn't need a bouncer. That's
what attracted the bouncer to Ian's house.

Copyright © 2016 James Haug All rights reserved
from Conduit
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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