Ash
A car window reflection is at least honest
You need a shave
But lately the hands haven’t been too fine
and it’s been so easy to draw blood
and too easy for that to feel okay
There is an ash tree here of all places
and a cat, limping, shares its surprise with me
We have this rarity and each other to think about
although he thinks faster, and bares claws to bark
I at least have the courtesy to leave him
his ears flattening back, his back arched and legs braced
The rest of the walk is leaves and thinking about a cigarette
today specifically the dry, raisin smell of an unlit Marlboro
No
I walk past a pub, too
The alarm will be earlier than the usual tomorrow, so it is tonight that I turn on the mirror light
Water and white, and the blade bucks a little on the first down stroke
I’m not halfway through and I think of the ash, the cat
Feel the nick of the three or five or how many blades
and can’t look up to the mirror, to my eyes as much as the cut
My hands look up at me innocent
This is on you
We are here, of all places
Rob Sandall is an editor and journalist living in London. His thoughts on writing have found their way into the Editing Matters journal; his poetry published in Trespass magazine and toured through various open mic events in the capital. http://twitter.com/bobbysandall