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
Biting between yolky sobs