Everyone I Know

By | 1 October 2015

The first night I moved in
my flatmate appeared in the hall
covered in blood of his own making.
He had scored his forehead
with a butter knife which he was still holding.
I locked myself in and watched his footfalls
back and forth –
I frantically SKYPED all night
asking for advice. Everyone I knew
was overseas.
In a Starbucks in Hong Kong
you veered and bobbed
giving me advice:
‘Put him on,’ you said.

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