Too much shopping. You heave bags into the
kitchen – groceries, pharmacy, a litre
of ice-cream you hope wont melt. Plus, the red
bag with the red dress you wish you hadn’t
bought, or had, you cant decide. Money is
tight. Peas in the freezer, taramasalata
in the fridge, plastic bags folded, tinned cans
stacked, the receipt – a small white flag run through
with black digits – in the bin. All away. Yet
all keep ringing through your bones like canned
laughter on a tv game show. You slump.
Worn wooden boards hold you still. Beneath them
the sandy loam and heavy clay are silent.
You are still a long way from home.