Dancing around the bedroom in my pyjamas I pause to pirouette, feeling the scrape of the carpet, crumb-covered, beneath the ball of my blister-blighted foot, and I am beautiful. Without makeup, without mirrors, with no one to look at me or to stroke my ever-hungry ego, I breathe in the stale, book-dusty air, hear the tinny music of the radio, spy your socks on the floor, and, tutting to myself, march proudly onward to face the morning.
Sitting in the passenger seat
Watching you drive my car,
Drive me, to places I’ve not been.
Foreign, fresh territory,
Countryside-open or big-city-closed;
I watch the people pass, with strange faces,
Search through the streets
Looking for something. What?
An ending, a beginning?
An answer to the unaskable?
My mind wanders, I lose the map.
I close my eyes and sit back,
Comforted by the mindless noise
Of a badly-tuned radio;
The buzzing static in tune
With the humming void between my ears.