Margaret Atwood

Ottawa, Ontario
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The Landlady

Rating: 2.6
This is the lair of the landlady

She is
a raw voice
loose in the rooms beneath me.

the continuous henyard
squabble going on below
thought in this house like
the bicker of blood through the head.

She is everywhere, intrusive as the smells
that bulge in under my doorsill;
she presides over my
meagre eating, generates
the light for eyestrain.

From her I rent my time:
she slams
my days like doors.
Nothing is mine.

and when I dream images
of daring escapes through the snow
I find myself walking
always over a vast face
which is the land-
lady's, and wake up shouting.

She is a bulk, a knot
swollen in a space. Though I have tried
to find some way around
her, my senses
are cluttered by perception
and can't see through her.

She stands there, a raucous fact
blocking my way:
immutable, a slab
of what is real.

solid as bacon.
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COMMENTS
your mom 03 November 2020
ew what is this, btw this makes no sense
0 1 Reply
Thanks for sharing this poem with us its just suiting some landladies but not all
0 1 Reply
I too think that a landlady is a bulk and i like your poem see ya
0 2 Reply
Jai Manh 18 May 2020
Thanks for this poem recitation??
0 0 Reply
Leanna 13 January 2020
That is stupid ccccccccc
3 1 Reply
Edward Kofi Louis 16 February 2019
A raw voice! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
1 2 Reply
Pearly 12 September 2018
So fitting for my landlady.
2 2 Reply
Pizza Hut 07 May 2018
Pizza Hut is the best.
7 3 Reply

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