Invaders of the head

I allowed you,
out of charity,
into the back of my head.
Cleared you a corner,
tossed out some rubbish
an earlier guest
left behind.

In a small but
cortical way
I welcomed you.
I'd think about you
pleasantly
from time to time.

Gradually though, my other guests
(never telling me why)
would sidle out, and gather their cloaks.
Singly, confidentially,
they whispered me goodbye.

The moment each one left, I found,
you occupied their chambers,
crowding the top of my head.
I'd forgotten you were there.

Whenever I sought an empty room
to straighten out my thoughts
before they grew too tangled
all I came across
was you:
leaning back on every chair,
wriggling your toes on every floor
summing me up
with amusement in your eyes.

And then I found
my brainspace polluted
by all your hangers-on:
your family, friends,
discarded shells of lovers,
your elephant, your ants' tongues,
political opponents,
and all your other pets.

Expressly I instructed you
(remember that?) to stay there at the top,
where I could keep an eye on you
in those stately-ceilinged rooms
with their shiny new pink carpets.
But now I find your encampment
in the lowest of all the caves.

Unauthorized, you scrape my seams
for gold; the smoke
from alchemical fires
pollutes my gleaming corridors.
And how can I converse
with my academic guests
when none of us
can breathe
through your hot
and meaty smoke?

I thought I would
disgorge you
but it seems I've left it
much too late:
you're ensconced so deep
in that maze of caves
I'll never get you out.

Dennis List