go

you will die behind glass

in a grey chair, in a blouse that’s too big

and trousers that hate themselves

you will sit

as if on a static wheelchair

waiting to be pushed

the nails on your toes will have turned prehistoric and

the sign in the toilet that says

‘ladies stay seated for the whole performance

and gentlemen stand close

it may be shorter than you think’

will feel like a relic of someone already gone

someone who baked bad, heavy scones

who deep fried eggs

slid down a banister in a posh hotel

and vomited up their own false teeth after a drinking game

you will die behind glass

alone

bored

but also ok

surrounded by patricia cornwell novels

and half bit cakes

the stuffing left long ago so now its all just

surrender

surrender

surrender

and passing time

i hope you meet men in vienna again

dance a waltz

marry a man your mother doesn’t want you to

go well

go well

go

there’s nothing here now

just glass and past

go well

go