The Conversations he has with his Landlord

He sits in an Easy Chair
although which one
and does it really matter

These are the conversations he has with his landlord
when he walks in
off the street   

As if he were a customer. Come to dole out royalties  
Not expletives

Although that doesn’t matter either
His landlord is very understanding

Of the harsh trading and meta-economic Conditions

He says: we have known each other for a very
long time and we respect each other I feel
we can talk openly about these

things and you are always honest with me.

He says: I sometimes look up at these

Wonderfully attended beams. These high overheads
I think about swinging    

He says, walking in off the street,
on a quiet day
which affords them these long uninterrupted periods

to have these engaging conversations    
That build trust. That engender
A sameseeking rapport their heads together as they

Look out onto the street as if looking for solutions
Together seeking answers in the sweeping of leaves

Along the sometimes quiet, often busy well-laid and
maintained pavement system
which should be feeding him feet   

But which does not he says I no longer feel relevant
here, in this conversation that we are having

Two men at ease with each other, leaning casually over and across
countertops that should be seeing the brush and sweep of coin

But which do not. Nor in this setting that allows him

The time to sit here, and write out these conversations he has with
His landlord, uninterrupted.

Look, he says, his hands splayed out wide as if in benediction and
not stipulation, his smile returned, but not without investment

but still smiling both smiling
we always we the royal we,

without royalty, without royalties

Have always given you plenty of
rope. It is because we believe in  

He says: we are a caricature enactment of this empty street that is
become so bustled with audiences unattending, a play in a foreign

Language. Where the players remain on stage, and mount up their
Lines even when the audience understands not a single word, and

Misses all the morals. Every punchline unaddressed into the
darkness. And the curtains never close. And in walks the Landlord

Would you look at this street he says. All the changes being made.

These are the conversations he should be having with his landlord
How

The two of them here, with their heads together. Calm and smiling
addressing the problem,
the lack of coins brushing palms, held wide, and open and smiling

Golden silver
copper hand
shakes   

He says: we are the ongoing expression of concern for the way
Things change. People change. Times come and go

And we’ve seen so much water, wash under this bridge
That time when we gave you free parking
when all the planes were delayed and the tourists never

Came. Back.

He says: together we have marched to this tune for so long can
we help it that the pavements are maintained

The brush of feet up against doors we have had to close again
and again. Your door is always open for me. And I respect that

These are the conversations he should be having with his landlord
Now

That the seasons that have changed
have also come to pass

The birds have flown, this way and that, but always return
And when they don’t he says: I am not responsible for the

Wind. And he nods. Knowingly.
Those birds with notes in their
mouths.

Or bills in their beaks whichever
arrive first on the
first of the month
on the wind that he makes anyway in the absence of wind

Thank you, I would appreciate that. He says you know we
Have always looked out for you, he says

as he looks out, as they both look out
avoiding, in the unbroken comfortable

silences that exist between the conversations
he has with his landlord

The coins the birds leave as they tumble from
Jaws held open
and maw.