Her full stops are in all the wrong places...

The first rain of seven days,
cools the pavement.
That warm dust scent of summer showers.

In the cooling water
of the bathtub,
she examines my back,
cruelly obsessing over my miscallaneous scars, bruises, ingrowing hairs,
notes to self scrawled in leaking biro.

My legs have a life of their own
I have to keep them bound together
with shoe laces and duct tape.

I wanted to wear a suit - I wanted the opportunity to wear a suit. But I didn't want a job. I put on the sky-blue suit with the flaired trousers, my cleanest tennis shoes, my black tie and ivory white shirt. I spent the day in the park, dunking my shoes into the lake, with its rusted geese and porcelain pelicans.

The Switchboard

I'm pushing thirty. Well, thirty's pushing me - on the other side of the door pressing in. Even the wardrobe won't hold it for much longer.

When he speaks, his voice sounds as if it is coming to you through cheap, tinny speakers.

Roll[o].