I was nineteen when I stumbled across your newly-built facade and I knew right then, as the violins soared, That this was no easy first step on the ladder
Small black fur thing in the hall creeps Past her reflection in the mirror, belly-low Nobody has told her that she cannot speak and so She does not give up saying.
I bump into my neighbour in the supermarket and we exchange pleasantries. Chit chat. This and that. I feel as if I am five years old and waiting for my mother to stop talking