I have been whispering to the printer since just after nine. It has given nothing, only flashed ‘drum’ and whined and stopped and whined and filled me full then stopped
Ladies, stop a second. Don’t hand over the jar, when the lid won’t open, or else in five years it’ll be car keys, then car. You’ll be stumbling, wheeling a pramful, puzzled,
Just like the shoes, I am stubborn with, I will not throw you out. Or like my white handbag scratched with nib marks, belly-full of stories I will keep you pursed, one arm belted over you.