The Tenant


Everything remains as is


Each little thing stays

where it is


...if I don't fuckin' disturb it!


I hate the decisiveness I'm armed with!


I can stay out of this place

for five months,

and I do, go north, way north,

or south, way south,

or east, way east,

or west, way west,

what do you care!? You don't!


But when I return,

open that door,

the pencils lie - where they lay...

the bed is still made,

the computer looks me in the eye

with its blind screen


I am the news here,

in this time gap suddenly pried open


I am the news, stepping in,

little swirls of air

spiralling off my Hermesian feet,

tiny flakes of dry skin falling off

my meaty totem motion,


like sheets of steel accidentally

off an overhead crane at a rolling mill,

raising a dusty hell

down one kilometer of hall


but no one hears the noise


All household utensils get on their toes,

shy back, motionless


He's here”

Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 147 times
Written on 2022-04-30 at 09:36

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
Not only did this inspire some feelings of nostalgia (perhaps I sensed an undertone of sadness) but it ended up giving me a smile: It was born on the closing lines where the household utensils are given a life of their own. Really enjoyable poetry. Thankyou.