By: Liv Monaghan


I ate but boiled egg brown sandwiches.

From the Sainsbury’s at the end of the line of red bricks.

Because I was sick with sorrow

For weeks I punctured pittas

And smeared borrowed mayonnaise on their insides

Squashing the shelled goo down.

Sneaked the concoction

Into the spare room facing the Northern Line

Dining silently

Biting between yolky sobs