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! ”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem