Karina Patfield
I borrow a bedsit from a landlord who borrows
the bedsit from a bank. Its cracked
roof spits raindrops and slugs creep
on wet carpet
the landlord sits close, on my sofa
on tick
his rich, dry body groans
next to mine
I feed my giro to the leccy
he holds his hand underneath
piling coins in his palm
I ask for a cigarette, he throws
twenty on the table, we light one
from another
from another
until all that’s left
is a heap of blackened ends
his breath is heavy
in my ear. What
will you do, he asks
now they’re gone
he watches as I dirty
my nails
scrape tobacco
from charred dog-ends
his fingertips dig hard
into my leg
I light my cigarette
from a wavering flame
and blow into damp air
he follows my smoke and leaves
recycled fumes
clagging his skin