A mouth has been at the bins again.
On the District Line, I find egg stuck to my Nikes.
Kid in my class asks: they Air Force 1?
& I feel my wrinkles. So I wash my face
in London’s spit, until Simple is on offer.
Am I grown yet? I watch YouTube tutorials
from my office chair; catch a flash of grey
in my Groovy-Chic mirror;
have now realised it really isn’t possible
to kick a pigeon. The new housemate is in the shower
again. I wish I knew how to look after
my damn plants. I could be pregnant right now.
The only thing I own of my Oma’s is her hair, in a box. I cry
when I miss the 37 bus. They are terribly irregular.
How could I have known I would not need
all these dresses. The sea is pouring
from my wardrobe. Maybe I should get out of the house.
Watch the green ducklings, iridescent nappies. A world
with more coke products than tigers.
My screen asks: Want to add a free drink to your order?
I should wake up from my desk now, it’s been two years.
John’s been awaiting my email.
Ella Dorman-Gajic is a London-based playwright, poet & performer. Her writing has been described as “impassioned” by The Guardian. Her debut play Trade premiered at Omnibus Theatre in 2022. She’s part of the Roundhouse Poetry collective & alumna of Apples & Snakes Writing Room. https://www.elladorman-gajic.co.uk/