1.
The fifty miles between us did not seem as long as the time
it takes to get back, it is disguised
as a milk float, I think,

going seven miles an hour down the street
at nine AM, while people beep cranky horns
from behind, with a red frown
over worn, and filth spraying
from the mouth
like the backwards hoover
sat in the corridor.

2.
When the phone across the hall rings
and nobody answers,
I wonder if that person on the other side
hangs up with a surge of loneliness.
Maybe they,
like me,
are milk floats.

Painted blue
and being emptied more
at every stop, leaving a little part of us
everywhere.

3.
But only on days like these
when friends watch DVDs in the dark
only one floor below and I sit
with milk eyes that melt
in blinding light, just like ice cream does
on hot days --

but aren’t those days
meant to be happy?

4.
There was no heating for three days,
but now my radiator clicks
constantly, like something inside
wants to get away

and I wonder why
milk floats cannot keep up
with the rest of the world.

5.
Six girls and one boy sit quietly
as the fridge howls in a kitchen
full awkward chatter,
brushing their hearts cautiously
against the thought of home.

Firmly, they stare at the floor
to brush off the sleepy air
that rinses over like layers of shy fog.
It stains the walls with a colour
much like doubt --

settling on my back, pinching me

it swells.

6.
I am a milk float.