Home is where I hang my hat

This reading was recorded by Alessandro Mistrorigo for Phonodia in Venice, Italy, on the 15th of October, 2013.

Read by Philip Morre on 15 October 2013

Home is where I hang my hat

Home is where I hang my hat,
currently a tiny flat
with views to compensate for that.
Home is where I hang my hat.

Home is where I sip my soup
and rock at sunset on the stoop
(I don't belong to any group).
Home is where I sip my soup.

Home is where I stash my bag;
it has no team or hymn or flag
to cause its citizens to brag.
Home is where I stash my bag.

Home is where I choose to stay.
I may be here till Saturday
and after that I'll go away.
Home is where I choose to stay.

Home was an island in the sea
where I was born but knew to flee
before the taxman came for me.
Home was an island in the sea.

Home is where we await the hearse
– a glass of wine, a book of verse:
many waiting-rooms are worse.
Home is where we await the hearse.

Home's an unfamiliar song.
My household's what I take along,
the road ahead's where I belong.
Home's an unfamiliar song.

Sing it, you lot, if you must;
– no doubt by now you have it pat –
but leave me to my wanderlust.
Home is where I hang my hat.
Home is where I hang my hat.

from The Sadness of Animals (Canterbury: San Marco Press, 2012).

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