He was here. Last night. This morning. He was here.
The flat is too white. The wood is too wood. She kicks the wall. It is easier to kick the wall than the floor. She kicks the floor. Wine sloshes on the floor. It is easy to slip on wine on the floor especially when you are going round the mulberry bush, singing,
‘Here we go round the Mulberry Bush, the Mulberry Bush the – fuck that
and wash our clothes, wash our clothes, wash our – fuck that
iron our clothes – fuck that
scrub the floor – fuck that’
Whoops. Lyn kicks the floor.
‘Here we for round the mend our clothes – fuck fuck that
sweep the house – fuck fuck fuck that
bake our bread, bake our bread, bake our – fucking bread
go to church – totally fuck. That.’
Lyn spreads her arms crucified and roars out into Wakefield night.
Not a sound.