The interview

Another

has crawled inside me

to heal.

 

Is this what we are?

 

Eyes open.

First light; I can’t go

back to sleep

 

but keep trying.

 

Crows holler

at the closed window.

The interview

 

upstairs

in a spacious

public washroom.

 

Empty

for decades, until now.

White tiles

 

spit-polished.

Paint chipped. Boxes piled

in corners.

 

“The thing is,

you won’t find better

dog owners.”

 

This is what I say.

 

I go downstairs

put wood in the fire

then back to bed.

 

 

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