Foolproof I Poem by Morgan Michaels

Terry is an old friend- a smart fellow who rents the houses he builds to people who need them- in other words, a landlord, right?

I've mixed feelings about landlords because everyone needs a roof over their heads- except for hole-dwellers, right?

That is the way of things. Rent is important. Wasn't it the basis of feudal economy? The Middle Ages would've been sunk without it.

In today's scheme of things, it's right up there with interest and profit as a driving force of capitalism. Somebody has something somebody else needs so badly they're willing to pay good money for it.

But as often happens in Gotham, a landlord is likely to sharpen the deal either by increasing the cost of the good or by cheapening the need- with the interest of bettering profit in a seller's market.

But theories of rent income are beyond the scope of this poem.

So I asked him recently, 'Terry, you're a landlord, aren't you?

He froze. Few mind being a landlord, yet few love to be called one.

'Yes', he admitted, slowly. 'I build houses and rent them. That makes me a landlord'.

'Wunderbar', I replied. 'To who? '

'Anyone who needs one- -and can pay.'

'Regardless of race, religion or sexual preference? '