It’s another hot morning
Sweat sits neatly
On the inside of my wrists
Wets my cuffs
And cools me
I’ve taken some time out
You see
From that town
To this country retreat
Where my body is supposed to breathe
I think it’s working?
Because my mind is in one place
Tapping to the beat
Of breakfast jazz
And it all comes together
For one short weekend
Out of the bloom
First you find a moment
To pause for 40 minutes
Relax your body
Drop your weight a little lower
Below your waist
Your blubber resting on your hips
At ease with yourself
And as we set off
Everyone stiffens a little
To avoid touching
Or seeing
You reach up
Hand in cough
Or sneeze
Or something far worse
Until the red light
And a voice that tells you
We’re taking a break
So you bend your elbow
And wait
Until it begins again
35 minutes to go
Someone’s telling me how to dress again
They say my boyfriend doesn’t like the way I do my hair
Or the clothes I wear
And that my skin isn’t quite right
Too oily, too dry
That I have to buy something new
To make me look like you?
They’re teaching me how to get my best angle
To make my bum look bigger
And my waist smaller
And they’re telling me I’m not good enough
And that I need to change
So that the person who I thought already loved me
Can love me again
Ice cream girls
On scrollers
Sliding down the screen
In little to nothing
This is the new porn
They warned us about
After paper things
Paper bodies
Glossy pages
And retro settings
Petrol stained girls against bikes
And bunnies
For some reason
Are made sexy?
And it’s all there
On your screen
No sneaking around
Or deleted history
This is yours now
This new porn
Monday
A suited man with wispy hair
Gets on at Bond Street
He collapses next to larger woman who makes him look childlike
Another man, who keeps opening his eyes
To pretend he isn’t tired
Telling me? Or him?
And him too, two seats down
Inspired by the others
Tuesday
Face pressed against glass separator
With those ear buds in
What are they listening to?
Posh boy copies
Or tries to
But gets frightened by his own reflection
Worried I’m watching (I am)
So he readjusts himself
A slight woman
Rests her head against a bigger load
And drifts off
Wednesday
He smiles when he sleeps
I bet someone loves that about him
And then my own
Who met me after work
And now sleeps his way
Into my poem
Thursday
There are too many people
Too close
To s(l)ee(p)
Friday
Today it’s me
Half-drunk and restless
Dreaming of clean cotton sheets
How often do you think about it
Every week
What do you think about
Nothing
Trying to?
Trying to.
What do you think about
Everything
It would be a greater sin to forget him
Than forgive
As this memory
Tainted as it may be
Is all I have
To remind me of the trauma
That taught me how to bleed
Inside
Surplus books
Scatter overpriced side tables
Side thoughts
Thought about
Too much
And walking past her
Who begs in a pitied hell
As the pits of olives
Drop from fed mouths
They read (loud)
‘You have too much
Time and money’
And she whispers (quiet)
‘Spare change, sir’
LED walkways
For hot totties
Drinking hot toddies
By the fern
Which slowly dies
But will be replaced tomorrow
By someone who dreamt
Of starting a business
By selling life to offices
But spends each day
Collecting and burying
The dead
There is so much to love
That they don’t tell you
In the films
‘Everyday loves’
…
Why did you say thanks
And offer your seat
No one does that here
⁃ People are too busy to be kind
Well you should stop
People will stare
