He altercated <br />with Mrs Orbeck <br />on the stairs. <br />Something to do <br /> <br />with him <br />sneaking women <br />into his room at night. <br />None of your business <br /> <br />if I do, he’d said. <br />But it was of course, <br />written into the tenant’s <br />agreement he’d signed <br /> <br />the year before <br />when he’d been desperate <br />and she seemed nice. <br />I will not have <br /> <br />that kind of women <br />in this house of mine, <br />she’d boomed, rattling <br />the rafters, shaking <br /> <br />the windows in their frames. <br />He noticed as she spoke <br />a thin fine moustache <br />on her upper lip <br /> <br />where sweat seemed <br />to have gathered <br />threatening to jump <br />like some weary suicide <br /> <br />on the lip’s edge. <br />He promised her <br />he’d not have that <br />kind of women <br /> <br />in his room again. <br />She wiped her upper lip <br />to remove the sweat. <br />He thought her an ass, <br /> <br />she thought him a pain. <br />They never had (about <br />women at any rate) <br />an altercation again.<br /><br />Terry Collett<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/altercation/
