I lay on the counter:  
A coiled snake.
Are you here on holiday?
Matted clumps of hairs sprouted from every angle –
Part yeti, part buffalo.  
Adil put on ‘I am the One and Only’.  
Hope you don’t mind the music?
Adil grinned and then lunged forward, picking me up off my perch.
Where are you staying? Butlins, yes?  
Adil was really making an effort, here.
He swapped me for the electric one, bumping around on his face, as if I were in 007’s Moonbuggy.  Preparing the ground.
A dislodged crumb dropped like a stone from his top lip.
Crank, crank on the chair.  
Head back, please, Mister Bond, bit more, perfect!
Foam mushroomed onto the brush and, with it, Adil turned his face snowdog.  
Temperature ok, boss?
Still, nothing.
Adil crooned the chorus:
‘I am the one and only
Nobody I’d rather be.’

He shifted his weight on the chair, breathing heavily.
Eyebrows tensing, Adil plunged me into the molten water.  
With my exposed side bristling, I engaged the north edge of his chin and went for it.  
Did I slice through his Adam’s Apple?
‘Don’t tell me I know best
I’m not the same as all the rest.’

The pop beat kept me going.  
I carved out furrow after furry furrow
Till all his skin was as pink as a baby’s bottom.

Sweaty and weary, now, Adil held me in his left hand and, with his right, flicked the chair round to face the door.

A girl in a dress stood there, holding a bright red balloon.
Is that for you, princess?
No, it’s my uncle’s. It’s his birthday today.  

The air was rose water and streamers.

Thank you, my dear.
Thank you so much.
Thank you.

‘You are the one and only you.’

To Ed  


What child were they
When piercing squeal
Grabbed the foreman by the *****?

What child were they
When putty tears
Smeared and blobbed
On the sheeting?

Running from
The construction pit
The thrill of sand and truck
Implodes.
Metal **** makes decent scar
That keeps the girls’
tongues a-wagging.

‘Always heed the ‘Keep Out’ signs,’
The stony man booms at the boy;
‘I told you not to wander where
Granite pavement yields to digger.’

Years ago, that child, was I and
Diggers now are doors and roofs;
Then here, one day, my own boy falls,
And blood comes oozing from elbow.

Running from
The construction pit
The thrill of sand and truck
Implodes.
But, how should I, with damaged tools,
Be the  
Grafter Dad
He’s seeking?

My undercarriage hangs open,  
Evacuees swell my bony fuselage 
To occupy their seats. 
My rubber legs skirt   
The char and ash of little fires, 
Fires that burn in Helmand. 
My jumbo wings buzz into life,
Before the clock ticks down. . .