I will report you

On the day I was born

I woke up one morning

at a crossroads

in the middle of a crossfire hurricane

and for once my mind wasn’t occupied

with a song I couldn’t just quite place –

the Beatles? Vending machine jingle?

or a veil of a nightmare about not getting through to someone

or of committing a crime

or of someone being dissected, probably me

or a headache

or someone else’s broken skeleton

or the feeling that I had forgotten something essential

but rather

an earworm

a line from my daughter’s travel blog of her trip through

India and Nepal

read in her own voice

(the earworm)

“I will report you”


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