“Tell me I’m an addict.”

I say to the blonde on my right
the goblin blinks numbly
and continues to scribble
her biro turning the white paper
black

when all there is fades
she steers me by the shoulders
to a world shrouded by sunflowers

all is ink and petrol:
gas stations producing pure marzipan
to satisfy the goblins
that gnaw at undeserved apologies

For Ruby, who I promised I’d write about. She’s a nicer goblin than you might think.