Being interviewed <br />by our prospective landlord <br /> <br />in his office <br /> <br />as if we had to <br />apply for to be his tenants <br /> <br />He interrupts <br />his interrogation of us <br /> <br />to take a call. <br /> <br />Outraged <br />he splutters into the phone <br />shouts in indignation <br />almost apoplectic: <br /> <br />“Sex... Sex <br />facilities! ” <br /> <br />We’re thinking twice about <br />taking his flat <br />like thanks but...no thanks! <br /> <br />When suddenly <br />(as suddenly) <br />as he flares up <br />he flares down <br />and laughs in <br />gentle Polish <br />into the mouthpiece: <br /> <br />“Oh...fax...fax <br />facilities! ” <br /> <br />“Dobja…dobja...dag...dag! ” <br /> <br />“Ok...ok...yeah.. yeah! ”<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/facilities/
