I met someone who worked
the night shift on reception.
I could see why. A fire exit shone
where her tonsils should’ve been.
She spelt Hello with an F,
a U, a C, a K and an OFF.
Her name tag read Don’t Bother,
her job title None Of Your Business.
The Grim Reaper gave her a wide birth.
The lines under her eyes were contours
from Earth’s first geography book.
They say If you don’t have anything nice to say
then don’t say anything at all,
but I’m worried no one would know she existed.
Before she was born, at least one person said
I can’t wait to meet her.

© Carl Burkitt 2020