poet. writer. imposter.
I’ve recently been in hospital for a major and life-altering operation; fetching gown, no? I came out of the anaesthetic. I wrote this on my phone, almost immediately. I have no recollection of doing so; I wasn’t compos mentis for several hours and after a good sleep. I remember the reasons for it though. Naturally, pre-op, I was very nervous but took massive comfort in the mundane chatter of the splendid crew that performed my procedure. If they weren’t worried, why should I be? The last thing I heard – or thought I heard – was one of the nurses talking about her shopping…
The Red Shoes An organ misses it's cue, speeding notes to push the wheezes and groans away at last. Silent quivering at the enormity means little to the experienced and as I tremble - in the seconds before my head is swamped by chemical haar - I hear a voice - indifferent - ask in shrinking echoed tones “Do you like my new red shoes?”