The coffee table water-ring was eyeing me up
like it knew every mistake I’ve ever made.
No doubt it had been chatting to
the chocolate fingerprints on the fridge door,
the fallen curly hairs on the toilet seat,
the teabag juice up the wall behind the bin,
the toenails in the landing carpet,
the words from 20 and 15 and 12 and five
and three years ago painted across
the inside of my eyelids at night.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

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