Margaret Atwood - The Landlady

This is the lair of the landlady <br /> <br />She is <br />a raw voice <br />loose in the rooms beneath me. <br /> <br />the continuous henyard <br />squabble going on below <br />thought in this house like <br />the bicker of blood through the head. <br /> <br />She is everywhere, intrusive as the smells <br />that bulge in under my doorsill; <br />she presides over my <br />meagre eating, generates <br />the light for eyestrain. <br /> <br />From her I rent my time: <br />she slams <br />my days like doors. <br />Nothing is mine. <br /> <br />and when I dream images <br />of daring escapes through the snow <br />I find myself walking <br />always over a vast face <br />which is the land- <br />lady's, and wake up shouting. <br /> <br />She is a bulk, a knot <br />swollen in a space. Though I have tried <br />to find some way around <br />her, my senses <br />are cluttered by perception <br />and can't see through her. <br /> <br />She stands there, a raucous fact <br />blocking my way: <br />immutable, a slab <br />of what is real. <br /> <br />solid as bacon.<br /><br />Margaret Atwood<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-landlady/