moving in
there’s a picture of a corner shop printed
on the tiles in the kitchen, boasting linen and
fresh produce from centuries ago. i sweep
coffee granules from the counter, lift twin
steaming cups to the bedroom. the floorboards
creak and groan. all my stuff’s laid out; clothes
piled in a new wardrobe, big enough to hide in.
curtains and bed sheets clash like dogs and cats.
i said goodbye but kept my keys. like i was never
really leaving, made plans for curry and cocktails
so i could still be that ghost. floating from room to
room and calling each one home. anonymity at large.
i’ve a list of broken postcodes on my phone
reminding me where to go. each door is left ajar.
sticky limbed and silent at 2AM, i sweep the covers
from my shoulders. we try to sleep, in this strange
hotel hell with someone else’s heating bill. empty
mugs and boxes have piled up. there’s a special
spot for baggage in a house where people speak
too loud. i’ll cry about it when the lights are out,
but tomorrow - we’ll explore this town.
