LANDLORDS ARE NOTORIOUS
Robert Cole

Landlords are notorious, I keep thinking he’ll gas you
and they’ll blame it on me.
You crouch in his lap like a baby,
he is your illuminary, daddy, a wiseacre.

I like him for his platitudes
his peace-of-mind Chinese proverbs.
He likes to monopolise your guests
with confessions and Confucius.

He’s fatherly for what we will do in your bedroom,
and offers me a cold kip for the night.
After your beer it’s difficult to find the way home.
The rhythms of your music, a fist on the partition-wall.

But it’s a room, full of your boots, sketches
a wonky bike, and a big bed your boyfriends find a way to

Copyright, 1988, Robert Cole