“I’m anxious.” I know you are. I walk behind you because if I walked in front of you you’d lose me and you’d get angry. There’s no point trying to negotiate. You think about the children, not you and I. Maybe it’s because you’re divorced, guilty, you keep me out all…
I’m very hungry. This is a table. Is this a fast train? Why is not moving? It’s moving. Why are we not eating if this is a table? A mother sits on her phone instead of talking to her four-year-old son. I catch the little boy’s eye and he looks fed-up. Like he has…
I Monte Carlo, New York, New York Built in 1854, this spire with crows, tight jeans and rusted coasters. Smells of eggs, donuts, salty chips. Single boat stranded, afloat on the sand, grand blue boat, tilted. Reflection of council flats in wet holes. Thick haze, thinner there, water and sky, immersed in…
“The planet will one day be absorbed by the sun,” said the father to his six-year old son. “Absorbed by the sun?” “Horribly, there’ll be much fiery death.” The son nodded, “Like in X-men.” “Sort of, except X-men isn’t real, it’s a construct to help bring excitement to otherwise dull lives.” “Will it be dull…
“Close your eyes, son.” The young man closed his eyes. “Take a deep breath.” The young man did. “You are stood on the walls of our city, our home. Beneath your feet is the bulwark of our people, stone built higher and higher, mortar mixed with the blood and tears of our woman, our children. Our…
Everybody is an excuse maker. I won’t blog today because I have work in a few hours and I want to vegetate. I won’t tidy up the kitchen because I already cleaned it yesterday (and anyway it’s not that messy, the bin smells but I know that it’s the chicken from three days ago. I…
From the badgering treetops To the lowly park bench Four youths Smoking Trees hang like butterfilies from Fillies a hatchery’s rooftop where the butterfly hatcher has poowerful values and lots of children, and poo. Listen to what I’m saying to you Make sense of it, make sense of this, I beg you Because I Can’t.…
(25) Breathless. Artificial air tastes like licked Lego, burned copper, dirty coin hands. My fingers are clenched and my skull throbs with the dull drum beat of a death march, kamikaze, this is the end. Last I remember is the grass, hands tearing on the hard earth, a pain like angry acupuncture. Doctor Remnbaud says…
(24) Kit Lock gets home in the early hours of the morning. Her husband’s shoes are not by the door and his coat is not on the rack. My husband, she thinks. She calls out his name even though it makes no difference and she thinks of calling Christian or Sally but neither of them…
We haven’t sat on the sofa since you left. It was yours. We can’t touch it. For breakfast we all eat Weetabix with box-milk. No one has been to the shop. No one has left the house. There are tears at the bottom of the stairs each morning. We are determined to succeed for you.…
Seal Matches 