He was a big man, says the size of his shoes
On a pile of broken dishes by the house;
A tall man too, says the length of the bed
In an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man,
Says the Bible with a broken back
On the floor below a window, bright with sun;
But not a man for farming, say the fields
Cluttered on boulders and a leaky barn.

A woman lived with him, says the bedroom wall
Papered with lilacs and the kitchen shelves
Covered with oilcloth. and they had a child
Says the sandbox made from a tractor tire.
Money was scarce, says the jars of plum preserves
And canned tomatoes sealed in the cellar-hole.
And the winters cold, say the rags in the window-frames.
It was lonely here, says the narrow country road.

Something went wrong, says the empty house
In the weed-choked yard. Stones in the fields
Say he was not a farmer; the still-sealed jars
In the cellar say she left in a nervous haste
And the child? Its toys were strewn in the yard
Like branches after a storm - a rubber cow,
A rusty tractor and a broken plow,
A doll in overalls. Something went wrong, they say.

He was a messy person, says all the clutter
scattered around his room. Smart person too,
says the piles of electronics all over.
Listens to music, says the big stereo.
Probably walks alot as well,
says the worn out shoes with a hole in them.
Very forgetful, says the tv still running.

He had a brother, says the room across the hall.
Cluttered with junk, like a typical teenager.
Random signs and posters on the wall.
Reads alot, says all the books, probably quiet.
Big view of a pool outiside from the window
which is cluttered with memorabilia.
Like his brother, he must be forgetful
Says the unmade bed and clothes everywhere.

[Third Stanza]