TUESDAY 8
Antibiotics
again. At least tonight is
light past half-past four.
WEDNESDAY 9
Hairdressers then chest
x-ray, both in gowns that go
a different way round.
THURSDAY 10
Ripples projected
on the walls of the bath, like
the tide encroaching.
FRIDAY 11
Almost no one in
Costa to be disturbed by
me scraping my chair.
SATURDAY 12
Wine-dark beads slide down
tigertail clasped between my
teeth to keep them on.
SUNDAY 13
Stripes between the strips
of blind, one bright coral line,
the rest blue, fading.
MONDAY 14
A puzzle from a
cracker, impossible to solve,
becomes a necklace.
© Jacqui Rowe
Seventeen 