I found a pillowcase the other day
it wasn’t mine, I’m certain.
But, then again, my life is full of things I don’t recognise,
I can’t work out, and I don’t remember,
so I shouldn’t have been surprised.
There’s the little blue dish with the dots (yellow),
the other black walking jacket (size L),
the furrows between my eyebrows (quite deep),
a jumbo pack of antihistamines,
and occasional air of resignation, and spots on my hands (liver),
the meat packet in the freezer (species unknown),
and the sudden realisation that a person (thirtyish)
thinks I’m as old as their mother.