I don’t much like this bedroom
The bedroom doesn’t like me
It looks like a sort of policeman
Inspecting a refugee.
I don’t like the look of the bathroom
It’s just an empty space
And the mirror seems used to staring at
A completely different face.
I don’t like the smell of the kitchen
And the garden wet with rain
It feels like an empty station
Where I’m waiting for a train.
I can’t kick a ball against this wall,
I can’t build a house in this tree
And the streets are as quiet and deserted
As the local cemetery.
I don’t like the look of the kids next door
Playing in the beat-up car
Why do they stand and stare at me?
Who do they think they are?
The big boy’s coming over
He’s just about my height
Why has he got a brick in his hand?
Is he going to pick a fight?
But he asks me into their garden
Tells me his name is Ben
And Jane is the name of his sister
And will I help build their den.
We can’t get it finished by dinner
We won’t get it finished by tea
But there’s plenty of time in the days ahead
For Ben and for Jane and for me.