MOBILE PHONE BOOTH:

 

Is it a train? It’s supposed to be a train, it slips backwards like a 

train, snake towards the city.Perfumed people climb aboard smelling 

sweeter than the commuters on the one previous. They choose seats apart, 

spaced out from one another, staring into tiny screens & (strangely) 

books. I send out a message, I am ready to receive. The floodgates open, 

phone vibrations, interventions queue up for connections. The nice lady 

with the smart coat chooses not to sit next to me when she sees the 

mobile in my hand & I don’t blame her. A fast & tiny, frantic, spiky 

drum groove kicks in at the end of the carriage, heads swivel, turn back 

& hunch further into shoulders. Eyes disappear into tiny worlds held in 

the palms of their hands. 

 

Listening to a new Burning Shed release this morning.   

 

(K)