Roseanne insisted that I had unresolved
issues, and recommended I seek
professional help.
Her hair was short and flat,
the perfect nest
for her gaping mind.

She talked for a while
though it may have been longer,
describing the world in detail
as I drifted back
to the one bed end-of-terrace
flat, the plastic garden, the mother
berating her reflection.

On returning, I made my excuses
and offered her directions
to the next victim.
I often think of her
when life seems flat.

03/10/2015

Posted on 03/10/2015
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