I remember first hearing the term “Mr. Nobody” from my mom when I was a kid. My brother and I were very naughty and mischievous kids. Any time that would lead to something breaking, we would stand in a corner and simply shrug our shoulders. My mom would just reply “Of course you wouldn’t know! It must have been Mr. Nobody!”
At that time I didn’t know what she meant. When I grew up I found the poem in an old book of poetry collection that belonged to her. Intrigued, I quickly jumped to the indicated page and read it whole. It was then I realized what she meant. To this day we have a good laugh when we read that poem.
The poem is simplistic in nature and talks about the innocence of kids while gently making fun of them. It is clear from the beginning that any mischief or mishap caused in the house is blamed on Mr. Nobody – a very quiet and odd person whom no one has ever seen, and hence he never gets caught!
What intrigues me the most though, is that this is an anonymous poem written about an anonymous person!
Mr. Nobody
by Anonymous
I know a funny little man,
As quiet as a mouse,
Who does the mischief that is done
In everybody’s house!
There’s no one ever sees his face,
And yet we all agree
That every plate we break was cracked
By Mr. Nobody.
’Tis he who always tears out books,
Who leaves the door ajar,
He pulls the buttons from our shirts,
And scatters pins afar;
That squeaking door will always squeak,
For prithee, don’t you see,
We leave the oiling to be done
By Mr. Nobody.
He puts damp wood upon the fire
That kettles cannot boil;
His are the feet that bring in mud,
And all the carpets soil.
The papers always are mislaid;
Who had them last, but he?
There’s no one tosses them about
But Mr. Nobody.
The finger marks upon the door
By none of us are made;
We never leave the blinds unclosed,
To let the curtains fade.
The ink we never spill; the boots
That lying round you see
Are not our boots,—they all belong
To Mr. Nobody.
Shubhra Vats 