Out of the bloom

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

Monday to Friday

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

Inspiration from Cosmo

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

New Porn

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

People asleep on the tube

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

The Fern

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