Ask me loaded questions
that turn my laminate foundations
to jelly, and custard, and ice cream

that taste delicious in their chaos
and push those comfortable mirrors
back under the bed with the real goblins

Ask me questions covered
in childhood nettles, bearing a fresh sting
which let me recoil to you

upturn the vacuum packed trunk
and let the sharp-cornered detritus of my life
fall painfully on your feet

And look at me, in jeans and t-shirt
find every flaw on the front of me
while I trick away the rest with words

I’ll tuck them up in conceit
and maintain it all.