Facilities Poem by Dónall Dempsey

Being interviewed
by our prospective landlord

in his office

as if we had to
apply for to be his tenants

He interrupts
his interrogation of us

to take a call.

Outraged
he splutters into the phone
shouts in indignation
almost apoplectic:

“Sex... Sex
facilities! ”

We’re thinking twice about
taking his flat
like thanks but...no thanks!

When suddenly
(as suddenly)
as he flares up
he flares down
and laughs in
gentle Polish
into the mouthpiece:

“Oh...fax...fax
facilities! ”

“Dobja…dobja...dag...dag! ”

“Ok...ok...yeah.. yeah! ”