Page 153 of I Can't Even Think Straight

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“How’s the patient doing?”

A massive bouquet of sunflowers,

orange lilies, and orange roses,

followed by the bright white smile

of a grinning Obi,

appear around the open bedroom door.

Obi steps into the gaze

of the evil eye hanging above the door.

He wears a pink Sex Pistols band T-shirt

that I’ve not seen him in before.

It has the words “NO FUTURE”

in yellow capital letters across his chest.

“I’m sore,” I tell Obi melodramatically,

with a random hand flourish.

“Physically and emotionally,” I add.

“Mother dearest abandoned me here.”

I’m play-sulking but only half joking.

I know we need the money.

I know it takes a village to raise a child,

and I’m being taken care of.

But I still want my mum.

“Η μαμ? σου ?ταν εδ? χθες,”

Vass says in Mum’s defense.

“And haven’t I been

looking after you, αγ?πη μου?

I gave you my bed

and slept on the floor.”

They point down to

their thin pillow and blanket.

“Yes,” I say, embarrassed.

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