Blue windows, black mirror You are about to sculpt me in that room in Verona; its either 1997 or maybe its 2011, you are about to sculpt my belly with the hands that have just hung the black mirror above your bed, our bed, with its sheets and scalloped counterpane. When you’re about to sculpt,…

January, Cardboard, Double Cheese You carried it from the car on your lap-top, then the new free-view box; toilet-rolls and a bag of Christmas shoes. A girl fills an upper window in the next block, surveys you, latest news, in the week before term. We’ve got another one back! Two lads on your corridor. They’re…